Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 1) (1879 12 09)
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oeeeeee eee ee © 8 ew we ee ee ee eee ehh ae 5 ai 7: : __ $2508 year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matte~. __ Copyrighted in 1879 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. — 2a December 9, 1879. No.4. VoL L PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND. ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS.. = ook es isn gba ade mn Saeed eee pnt 4 ESTA ST SE SR ST art me STS PT Saree Se A? Ma et Tl , | STi cocina eS Wittig sss eau il i! RT ge iN “a SHADOWY FIGURE SWIFTLY BUT SILENTLY PASSED HER.” “That was very imprudent of you, Jack. Miss Tremlowe is not A Brave Heart: or, Siartingly Strange, accustomed to a six-foot Guardsman with an eyeglass in her domain; and as she is very shy and retiring, the innovation could not have been much to her taste.” BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTH. — _ “Oh, I dispensed with the eyeglass, and made my six feet as little Sem = intrusive as jon by sitting down.” CHAPTER I. ms RIS ii pins ae i age nn aged Mrs. Mordaunt, in a ag HT ABOUT THE NEW GOVERNESS. of deep dismay. “ Really, Jack, you know how servants talk. W Weer ony ee hk A atl rod other,” said Captain | by noon to-morrow it will be reported all over Burlingham that you I HAVE thea 8 himself lazily on a couc . front of the blazing | are making desperate love to the new governess!” ; ee ik eae. to have a peep at Mary’s erness.” “I don’t believe anything of the sort; end if they did, it would be
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en inter ectionally. 2 a compliment to my good taste, for she is the vey oe girl [ever saw in my life.” ‘ A. BRAVE HEART, illness it could be called—was the purple shade under the violet eyes, and a somewhat drawn ou seem to have made good use of your | look about the lips. bar 5 observed Mrs. Mordaunt, dryly. “cc ih I stayed there a good half-hour, [ am | at Mrs. Mordaunt’s luncheon-hour sure. Harry wanted me to hear how much she had improved in her reading, and I couldn’t be so unnatural Little Mary and Miss Tremlowe always dined and this was generally. a pleasant meal for all three of them; ut somehow it was not so agreeable now that as to refuse. Then she insisted | the captain had come home—that is to say, to that I.should mend a doll’s chair, and Miss | two out of the quartette. Tremlowe had to heat some glue, so that it preved quite a long job. And upon my word I | talkative; am afraid I didn’t hurry much, for Miss Trem- to ee lowe held the broken leg while I set it; and her but Mrs. - eyelashes were so splendid—” : Mrs. Mordaunt interrupted him by an impa- tient movement. “ Miss Tremlowe is under my charge, and I wen’t have any trifling there. Mrs. Tremlowe —who is, by the by, a slight connection of your father’s—has gone to Italy for the winter with her other daughter. As an officer’s widow, with little besides her pension, you may ima- gine it was very difficult to take one si mE and impossible to take two. Clara—Mary’s yverness—was determined her sister should Gr this one chance of life, and came and engaged herself tome, without the others know- i n By Jove! that was fine!” put in the captain, Tremlowe was dreadfully distressed, eourse. But it was the only way of manag- ing their ine as she saw, and so she gave im. But she brought her daughter to me her- self, and told me that Clara was innocent and histicated as a child, and a really good girl, but that she*had a certain peculiarity of manner at times she did not understand herself, and could not account for; but if I would make allowances for that, she was sure I should be more than satisfied in other ways.” “ Have you ever noticed that peculiarity?” “Well, for the first three months I did not; but last week I certainly did notice that she seemed in a strange, dreamy state, and had ite a different expression in her eyes to any- fing 1 had seen before. But as she attended to her duties with perfect regularity, and was anly a little odd and silent, 1 did not see any need to to her on the subject.” . “T admire Miss Tremlowe personally more than any woman I ever saw, but she is quite safe from me, and Bie may make your mind perfectly easy. And now I'll go an smoke a ar.” See Mordaunt had been left a widow young, and she might have remarried often had she ehosen; but her heart was wrapped up in her ehildren, and she had no thought to e from them. Her daughter, who was the elder of the two, married at eighteen, and, to her mother’s great grief, went to India, with her husband, where she died just after the birth of her little girl. Captain Barrett followed her in a few months, but not until he had made all the neces- sary arrangements for his child to be taken to Burlingham, where he knew that she would have a happy home, and be a comfort, besides, to the bereaved mother. The estate and house reall tain Mordaunt, and he took possession of amidst great rejoicings when he came of age. But he preferred a soldier’s life to that of a eountry squire; and as Mrs. Mordaunt had a large jointure, and a private fortune of her own besides, she lived at the Hall and kept it up in tty much the old style—the rearin got little ary. and her son’s occasional visits, being the + pleasures of her life. But the time came when little Mary must belonged to rn t begin to learn, and Mrs. Mordaunt looked about her for a very young governess, who would be a companion as well as a teacher for the child, and not be above dressing her dolls and sharing her games. It seemed as if Fate h sending Clara Tremlowe, for though well in- formed, and perfectly ladylike, she was still quite a child in some things, and soon managed te win little Mary’s heart. Things went on very happily for three months, and then came that strange week of which Mrs. Mordaunt had spoken to her son—when the girl’s manner was so odd and dreamy that the elder lady could not understand her at all, and |. would have been alarmed had not Mrs. Trem- lowe assured her tiiat this arose from a nervous state of health, and would soon be remedied by an extra elass of wine every day, and a few doses of tonic. Indeed, under this treatment, Miss Tremlowe befriended her in | The captain himself was charmingly gay and tle Mary as happy as a bird, ready ll his jokes before they were made; rdaunt herself looked grave and Leap and Miss Tremlowe never opened her ips. Captain Mordaunt, to do him justice, meant to be just properly polite and attentive to his niece’s pretty governess; but her silence and abstracted manner piqued his curiosity, and he found himself taking far more interest in her than was at all necessary. ‘¢ Confound it!” he would say to himself some- times. ‘‘ What is it in the girl’s face makes it so impossible kcep one’s eyes off have seen the handsomest women in England— ay, and flirted with many of them too—but they never had this sort of effect on me; 50 it can’t be her beauty. ps my word I believe she is uncanny, and will bewilder us all if we don’t take care, and then ride away on a broom- That evening he dined out; the next morning he went off shooting quite early, and did not return until late; but that night an incident ioc which harassed and perplexed him cruelly. , Ndieanty had a troublesome headache, and retired to her room quite at ten. “T shall just smoke a cigar, and then I shall turn in myself,” said Jack, yawning. ‘I’ve been over a good deal of rough ground wep and am regularly done up. Besides, poor o. d Beauchamp is such a confounded bore, being in his company is a labor in itself. I wonder why such bores as that are allowed to live; no one wants them—not even their wives.” “Don’t be scandalous, Jack,” said Mrs. Mor- daunt, laughing. ‘‘ You know quite, well that Mrs. Beauchamp is a most devoted wife.” _ “Tike Hamlet’s ghost, I could a tale unfold: but as‘you object to scandal, I had better, per- haps be silent ” Perhaps you had,” she answered, gayly; “unless you think that open confession is good or the soul.” a ‘*T wish I hadn’t more to answer for in any quarter than I have in that,” he said, suddenl ave. ‘‘Do you know, mother, Iam afraid ve been aterrible trifler. There was that little girl down pe alba ba can’t think how her face has haunted me ever since I have seen Miss Tremlowe, and yet they are not really alike. I do think the poor child was fond of me,” he added, abstractedly; ‘‘and she looked so fragile, I have often feared since that our arting must have injured her. But, you see,” fe continued, as if excusing himself, ‘it was so odd for a girl to be living alone in a farm- house, without any of her own people about her. Don’t you think so?” ‘* Decidedly odd. What was her name?” “Upon my honor, although I saw her daily for a month, I couldn’t tell on to save my life. She said I might call her ay and somehow it never occurred to me to say May what? or ask any questions. I really was foolishly infatuated for the nonce—so foolishly, indeed, that if Anderson, seeing how the land lay, had not carried me off to Norway in his yacht, I hon- estly believe I should have married her off- hand.” ‘‘ Without knowing her name?” “J daresay. A man is ee of any folly at such a time; and I should have known her name afterward,” added the captain, dryly. “‘T have such confidence in you that if feel sure you would never really marry any one but alady. But men will be men, I suppose.” af suppose they will,” he answered, with a comical smile. ‘Really, mother, you are un- commonly brilliant to-night, in spite of your headache!” “Don’t be saucy, sir!” she said; and went, laughing, off to bed. ; as he called his smoking-room, he filled his pipe, and then ensconced himself in a remarkably luxurious arm-chair, and fellinto a deep reverie. ‘*Pshaw!” he exclaimed aloud, presently. ‘‘ What makes me think so much of that poor little girl to-night? Itis not an episode in m soon beeatue her old bright self again; and | life, as mother calls it, that is pleasant to dwell when Cap*trin Mordaunt arrived at the Hall, e «7 4 | at ll, pon, for sue loved me, poor little thing! I re- , (3 col trace sou cond sce So iMmess—if member how prety it was to see the 4ush and’ Mrs. Mordaunt wastalking to Mary, her bac!x & her? I en Captain Mordaunt got into his ‘‘den,” | | ing her narrowly. » “In the park?’ she repeated, with an air of | thought was, ‘‘You are the coolest customer I ——_ —______= : a > = \ smile with which she always greeted me; and, after all, it was a poor, lame excuse I gave formy sudden departure, because, if people were talk- ing about our daily walks and meetings, there was an easy way of stopping their tongues. am afraid 1 didn’t behave well; nay, Iam sure I did not. I wonder what has become of her!” He shook the dust out of his pipe, and rose to his feet. “Anyhow, I may as well go to bed now. Hark!” and he turned his head toward the window, listening intently. “By Jove!” he said, his eyes firing; ‘‘ those confounded poachers have had the insolence to beard me in my den! Smith said they had cheek enough for anything. I'll soon let them know that sort of thing won’t go down with me. “ And he opened a drawer in his secretaire, and took out a revolver, which he examined care- fully, and then put it into his breast-pocket. Captain Mordaunt strode off hastily in the direction where he had certainly heard a gun fired a couple of minutes before. He could neither see nor hear any signs of his enemies, and was hurrying home to bed, when his foot- oor were suddenly arrested by seeing a tall, slight figure on in front of him. t was quite light enough to see that this figure heldtied to a young woman. She was draped from head to foot ina dark cloak, and the hood was drawn over her head. Suddenly she turned round, as if she had an instinctive feeling that some one was following her, and displayed the beautiful, pale features of little Mary’s governess, Clara Tremlowe. The young Guardsman started as if he had been shot, and looked after her, as she turned round again, in unutterable dismay. He must have been mistaken. A momentary resemblance between herself and one of the maids had deceived him. Anyhow, whoever it might be, she preferred not to be recognized, it appeared, for she sped swiftly back to the house, and seemed to disappear through one of the lower windows, so far as Captain Mordaunt could judge. But when he came near the spot where he had first seen her, he saw something white glisten on the ground, and picked up pocket-handkerchief, delicately. scented, and ig erin 4 of fine texture. 5 hrusting this into his pocket, to be examined presently, he went on to the place where the mysterious figure had disappeared, and found there was certainly a passage-window close by. It was locked and barred from the inside, but that, of course, she might easily have done when she got in. Still there was no trace of footsteps on the neatly-raked pect, and he did not much fancy that she could bave jumped the intervening space between the path and the ps incumbered as she was with her rapery. _ However, the pocket-handkerchief might pos- sibly help him to elucidate the mystery, and once back in his den again, he scrutinized it with great attention. It bore no mark; but if it did not betray its owner’s name, it showed very clearly thatyshe was not a common person, for only a refined lady would have cared for such dainty simplicity. . CHAPTER II. MISS TREMLOWE KEEPS HER OWN COUNSEL. Miss TREMLOWE and her char. alwa breakfasted in the “i fe neuver. He took care to be in the dining-room when | she arrived, and watched her as she walked with a slow, languid step to her place, As she bowed to him in passing to her seat, she lifted her glorious eyes momentarily to his face, and smiled the most provoking smile in the world, because it was so utterly incomprehens- ible. Finally she sat down with a demure air, and seemed to forget Captain Mordaunt’s very presence until he held out the handkerchief, and said, ‘‘Is that yours, Miss Tremlowe?” : “Oh, yes, it isindeed!” she answered readily. Pa go you very much. But where did you ndi “I found it in the park,” he answered, watch- foe surprise. ‘Surely, you are mistaken? have not been there for three days!” “Really!” was all he said; but what he ever saw; but you mustn’t suppose you are going to fooi me!” ee ) : school-room, and there Cap- — tain Mordaunt dared not intrude, so that he had ; © to wait until luncheon time for his grand ma- > >
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. she said. ‘So you see, “ptiong is safer for me not to being turned to the table, and so Jack bent for- = and said softly, ‘‘ Weren't you there last night? he stared at him with innocent amazement. ‘Me there last night! You must be dreaming, Captain Mordaunt! Nothing would induce me to put my foot out of doorsafter dark; I should die of fright.” Mrs. Mordaunt turned around at this moment, and nothing more was said, but Jack’s curiosity was oo oe to know how long and how well she would na - the fiction. A week passed away, and although Cap- tain Mordaunt had tried in every way to find an opportunity of speaking to Miss Tremlowe alone, hitherto he had been constantly balked. And yet every night he had smoked his Bee on the terrace instead of in his den, and had kept a wary eye on the window where he had seen the dark e disappear. ; But the shutter remained hermetically sealed, and'he looked in vain for her tall, graceful fig- ure in the moonlight. * Miss Tremlowe looked all the better for deny- ing herself that little distraction. — here was even a faint bloom on her cheeks now, and her eyes had lost. the dreamy, far- away look they had worn before. | Sheseemed to have come back to the world, and also its van- ities, for she had little _— bells in her ears that tinkled coquettishly whenever she moved, and the pale blue bow at her throat was another in- novation of equal merit in Captain Mordaunt’s fastidious eyes. “Tf that girl were a flirt she would make a fool of any man she liked,” he said to himself. “Even as it is, I should hardly care to be ex- posed to too much temptation,’ This was a wonderful ission for the gal- lant captain, who had always prided himself on his se ang ae until he met the nameless young lady in the Kentish farm-house. Was it possible he was going to be such a fool as to fall in love again, and in the same unfortunate way?’ Not if he could help it. He would try the ef- fect of a week in town, and get his mother to have the Wimborne girls in the house when he came back, ‘ Grace Wimborne would take good care he PPA VEE eR. 3 mee ing very like a school-boy going home for the Taolideryec His mother was greatly surprised to see him, of course, but she asked no questions. ee he not a perfect right to go and come as he iked 2 He brought little Mary a wonderful doll which said ‘‘ Papa” and ‘* Mamma,” and could be dressed and undressed at plea ure, having appropriate costumes for all occasions. It was pretty to see little Mary’s delight, and to note, also, how Miss Tremlowe brightened into in- terest and animation over the various toilettes, until her starry eyes were one sparkle, and she actually laughed as gayly as little Mary. He had never heard her laugh before, and was charmed. In the first place, because she showed a row of small, even teeth, as white as peanks in the second place, because her laugh was neither forced, affected, or frivolous, and trilled out sweetly and spontaneously like a child’s. She appeared to ee his very presence— which was not exactly flattering, perhaps; still, he liked her all the better for it, as showing her entire unconsciousness. Grace Wimborne would, have been making eyes at him all the tim fishing for compli- ments. But he dared not stay long. He was only surprised that Mrs. Mordaunt had not been after him as it was, for she had got. very much into the habit lately of paying little visits to his den to see if he were there, and following him if she saw no sign of him. For Mrs. Mordaunt was thoroughly conscientious, and was resolved that her son should not have the very smallest | flirtation with Mary’s governess. But a little accident will adiiciimes defeat all our precautions; and so it happened that night. | Mrs. Mordaunt went out to dinner, and as her son had not been expected home so soon, she had declined the invitation for him. Of course, he could have gone if he had chosen | in spite of this, and been pretty sure of a wel- come; but he did not choose, and so there was an end of tha* matter. But as the school-room was at the opposite end of the house to Jack’s den, and Miss Trem- lowe never left it of an evening, . Mordaunt wentaway with a tolerably easy mind. didn’t think of any one but her while she 4 However, it so noes that Miss Tremlowe . stayed, at any rate. ~ He made this suggestion to his mother at des- | sert that peng me as her pet plan was to | make a match between her son and Grace Wim- — borne, she welcomed it very cordially. ‘“‘Tam so glad you have proposed it, Jack,” “Tt is such a hae nes to see those ooer girls! What day shall you return from | ‘On the tenth. I shall be back in time for dinner, so you might ask the Wimbornes for that day. And let us have Rogers, too, by all means, for he’ll keep Anastasia amused while I flirt with Grace.” ‘‘My dear Jack, I wish you would try to be serious in that quarter. ou know how dearly I long to see you married and settled down,” ] . Mordaunt, plaintively. ‘ Be- sides, at twenty-eight it is really time to take to yourself a wife, and leave off trifling.” ‘A woman who has been brought up so friv- pga ge s esi os down. en she mar- ies, she es angerous ke se , and flirts secretly instead of openly. * Well, i have it in me to be furiously jealous of a woman I cared for; and, moreover, I shouldn’t fanc having my honor drage thro the mire. can’t always answer for myself when I am roused, and I honestly believe that a man,has a right to kill his wife if she is unfaithful to him. marry Miss Grace Wimborne.” ‘But you know, Jack, that a flirty girl often makes a very devoted wife.” “ Does she? I bow to your superior wisdom, mother, but I would rather not try the experi- ment. Ihave not sufficient enterprise.” Mrs. Mordaunt hardly felt that she could say any more. But, as Grace Wimborne was com- ing to stay in the house, she thought she might leave it a her ~ on the seed that she had sown, and meant to take care they were a good deal together. m 7. Captain Mordaunt went off to town the next day, and it was really quite pretty to see how he looked up at the school-room window, and kissed his hand to little Mary, even when he was half-way down the avenue, all But, then, Jack was a most excellent uncle, as every one knew. Captain Mordaunt stayed four days in town, and was never so bored in all his life before. _ On the fifth day he could bear himself no longer, and went back to Burlingham, and feel- Pd a 4 od ee —--_---oorrr ss)$s$s5IIIIs a II I_I_«>GT b| ad no book to that evening, and feeling too depressed either to work or practice, she suddenly decided to make an excursion into the library in search of something that would help her to while away the solitary hours. Burlingha "Hall was an old place, and the passages were long and draughty, so she envel- oped herself in a white Shetland shawl, drawing one corner over her head, in a picturesque fashion, and sallied forth. | The library was always well lighted and warmed, as it was Cay tain Mordaunt’s recog- nized sitting room when he was at home, and he received all his visitors there, so that she did not trouble to take a lamp. The library door was ajar, and pushing it, she went in. To her surprise and dismay, Captain Mordaunt rose quickly from his seat and came toward her, saying, in a cordial tone, ‘‘ I was just thinking of you, Miss Tremlowe, and am glad to find ti thinkin ing of a person is as good as speaking of them,-and assures his or apprarance. Is there anything I can do ou? ’ “Thank you, I only want a book,” she said, speaking composedly, although the lovely flush abided ye her cheeks. “The evenings are rather long now.” She found that this clause of her h was a mistake, when he answered eagerly, ‘‘ Yes, the evenings are very long when one is alone. Doesn’t it seem absurd, when you think of it, that there are two lonely people in one house who would be much more cheerful if they passed the evenings together; and yet society is so con- stituted that if they did, all the old women’s tongues would begin to wag at oncef How do you account for reasonable human beings allow- ing themselves to be held in such bondage?” ‘T have seen so little of the world that I can’t account for it at all,” she replied, with her sweet, rare smile. ‘‘But I can imagine that a great many things which are not wrong might be ine ient. ‘ , oe ead of mer 48 he — ‘For instance—pardon me for speaking p y—you would not consider it quite expedient, a you, for a young girl to walk out alone at night when the whole household was in bed? Gran that she intended no harm, still she would be foolish to lay herself open to misconstruction, would she not?” , “ Certainly,” said Miss Tremlowe lifting her large, clear eyes innocently, to his face, ‘ But ae ” : oe | do you know any girl who is so wickedly impra- | dent, then?” He looked straight at her with eyes that would | fain pierce to her very soul, and she submitted to his scrutinizing tranquilly, with undrooping eyelids—not bold or defiant, but simply secure and ignorant. Compan Mordaunt knew something of womer and their ways, and it seldom took him more than an hour to gauge them pretty accurately, but this one baffled him completely. She must be the most consummate actress in the world, since he had seen her in the park with his own eyes, and she took the tone now that it was an impossible thing to do. He returned to the charge determinedly. ‘*T know it is no business of mine, Miss Trem lowe, and you may think it very impertinent a me to interfere, but I should like to give yous word of good advice if you would allow me. ? am aman of the world; I have seen a good dea of life; and though some —— may think don’t care for the graver side of it, I can takes very serious view of things on occasion.” “Oh, I hope we all do,” she said, with an air — of wondering what this iong prelude meant. Sehr if Isaw a young girl exposing herself a would it not be very wrong of me to keep silence?” “Of course, it would,” she answered, readily, ** But what do you mean?” ‘‘T mean that I saw you in the park m the night you dropped your pocket-han ehief.” ‘Saw me?” she repeated, staring at him with a half-offended, half-incredulous air. ‘1 never did such a thing in my life! Why, I was ae- tually afraid coming through the passages just now, alone, when there were lights every where, and every one was up.” Captain Mordaunt was provoked at her denial; | the more so that he found himself almost be- lieving her against the evidence of his own eyes, and he could not help saying, with as muci: severity as significance, ‘Perhaps you did not expect to be alone in the park?” oe he flashed at him a glance full of scorn. “T had forgotten that I wasonly Mary’s governess, and, therefore, a fit subject for any man’s impertinences!” she said; and without so much as glancing his way, she walked from the room. And Captain Mordaunt would almost have — believed he must have been mistaken, b ae his walk on the terrace that night, saw the tall figure of Clara Tremlowe emer, suddenly from the shadow of the mansion, and glide swiftly toward the wood. CHAPTER It. _ GRACE WIMBORNE SEES A GHOST. Ar first Captain Mordaunt was so overcome with rage and indignation at Miss Tremlowe’s audacity, he turned his back upon her literally —_ metaphorically, and walked toward the ouse. But men have their curiosity as well as women; and he was anxious to see how she would behave when she met him face to face, and no further denial was possible. So he wheeled sharply round again, and wa® about to follow her, when he found she had dis- appeared as suddenly and mysteriously as before. . He examined the spot where he had last seen her—he even went into the churchyard clos» by, and peered behind the gravestones. Asa last resource he tried the church door; but that was securely fastened, and was, besides, about the last A Sagtae in the world where a timid gir] would take refuge, or a lover would care to keep tryst. “tt was so mysterious, Captain Mordaunt found himself wondering if she reaily could be canny, and he made up his mind he would keep out of her way as nifuch as possible for the future. By way of carrying his good resolution at once into effect, he returned indoors, and went pee up to bed. But, for the life of him, he could not sleep. It troubled him to think that the most innocent-looking girl he hed ever seen was depraved at heart, untruthful, shameless, and, moreover, that she was obstinately persist- ing in a course that would bring ruin on her, and sorrow to her friends. The next day Miss Tremlowe did not appear at luncheon, and Captain Mordaunt wes grinily triumphant, and yet disappointed, too. His mother made no remark about her absence; but little Mary was more communicative, and in- formed him, in the course of the meal, ths+ Miss mlowe had a dreadfully, drearctuly Lad ae vs mace from thoughtlessness, or throughsome bad influence, 4 ; a! ”
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¥ d, nwa, § Bye ters arrived and from that moment Cap M te “Mordaunt’s freedom was 4 A BRAVE HEART. Le SOARS ORASE TIS NLS a EE Sh Te headache, and she believed it had come from erying. He longed to question her, but dared not, especially as . Mordaunt said, gravely, ‘Mary, dear, you mustn’t talk so much, or you will never finish your dinner; and you know you are going out with me this afternoon.” “But it is quite true, grandmamma.” — ‘*T daresay it is, my dear. Indeed, I am quite sure you would not have said so, otherwise; but, you see, it isnot nice to tell us anything that appens up-stairs; it is like telling tales out of ae ne ‘ s it wrong for grown-up people to cry then?” said little Mary, who Liked to get at the bottom of things. . “Certainly not, my love. How can they help it when they have troubles? Only they don’t always care to have it spoken about.” Mary pondered deeply, with her little head on one side, and then observed, in an exculpatory an ‘Miss Tremlowe didn’t say I was not to ll. Captain Mordaunt burst out lau ghing then. ““You see, mother, doesn’t understand those little refinements yet; it will allcome in time, no doubt.” f “Not unless we begin to teach her now,” re- plied Mrs. Mordaunt, with some dignity; and seeing she was not well pleased at his interrup- 5 ack said no more, _ The next day Lady Wimborne and her daugh- gone. When he was not wanted to ride and drive with Grace, he had to entertain Mr. Rogers; and so completely tied was he, that it was quite a relief to get into his bedroom at night, and feel that he the right, at last, to be alone. ‘He’ saw nothing of Miss Tremlowe all this while, although he thought of her more than pleased him. Whenever there was company staying at tho house, Mary dined in the school-room, and only came down-stairs for half an hour ata time, and then alone, so that Miss Tremlowe might have been non-existent for aught the Wim- bornes knew to the contrary. Mrs. Mordaunt had certainly invited the girl down the first two or three evenings, but sho had begged so earnestly to be excused that she had not persisted. Indeed, Jack thought she was by no means sorry to have done acivil thing at so little cost. girl were not lonely, and if it did not occur to " iis But he often found himself wondering if the er sometimes as rather hard that she should havo none of the pleasures and distractions so natural to her years. | He was standing one day at the window of the upper landing, waiting for the horses to be brought round, when he noticed the school-room door opening little by little, as if some one were listening behind. He was exactly opposite that door, but the heavy folds of tho red curtains concealed him from sight. : : The window on the landing was a favorite. halting-place with him, for two or three times already he had seen a slight, coe figure emerge from the dour opposite; and oftener still he had heard her duleet voice coaxing, admon- ishing, and praising, but never raised in anger. And yet she bad aspirit of her own, too, ashe happened to know. ut before he had had time to finish these re- flections, the pretty, golden-brown head showed itself altogether, and Miss Tremlowe looked anxiously up and down the passage, Perceiving no one, she ventured forth, and looked over the banisters at the group below. And as she looked her face changed, and an ex- pression of great anguish and irrepressible pas- sion dimmed its wondrous beauty. First of all, passion had the mastery; then anguish routed passion and had it all its own way, for she bent her face onto her hands, and her whole framo shook with sobs? Never imall his life before had Captain Mor- daunt felt.so puzzled or so interested. Perhaps curiosity and compassion together would have mastered his discretion, only that at this mo- ment Miss Tremlowe fancied sho heard a step, and darted back into the school-room. At that moment Mrs. Mordaunt put her head | up the stairs and called her son, and he went | like a martyr, very much out of tune for tho sort of conversation that would be expectod of him for three mortal hours, But he tried hard to talk nonsense, and quite fancied he was succeeding beautifully, when | Grace turned to him, and said, with a petulant air, “You are awfully stupid to-day, Captain | Mordaunt! What is the matter with you?” ‘| it so happened that she ache,” he answered, coloring. “I suppose it is the weather.” “People are so fond of laying everything to the weather,” she said. ‘I am sure it is beau- tifully bright and fine to-day!” ‘Well, then, it was Admiral Dacre’s old port last night, if you won’t accept my first explana- tion. ‘*Or any other reason why,” she said saucily. “T don’t believe you have a headache at all, Captain Mordaunt.” “What then?” “Vou didn’t want to come for a ride!” “In that case, I could have made some ex- cuse and stayed at home, as you had Rogers to escort you; could I not? ‘¢ Not comfortably to yourself, for you would have felt as if you had been remiss. I must do you the justice to say that you are a very at- tentive host.” ““Thank youl” he answered, bowing down to his saddle-bow. ‘‘That was a very pretty com- pliment.” “JT never pay eee Captain Mor- daunt, T assure you. But I like to be just, even to my enemies.’ eye “T hope you don’t countme among your en- emies.” “T have never had reason to do so yet,” she answered hace retary ** Indeed, I sometimes flatter myself that we are very good friends.” Here was an excellent opening for a man who wanted to propose! There was only to say that be — to a dearer name still, and the deed was done. But it seemed as if Captain Mor- daunt were either very stupid to-day, or had no such intention, for he answered, gallantly, “I should not have been so presumptuous as to usurp that title, but since you permit me to as- pire so high, I shall be very proud of my hon- ors. “ Only mind you are not unworthy of them,” she replied, with her sweetest smile; and, put- ting her horse into a canter, she made for the common, r s Grace Wimborne was always what is called a dashing rider, but, after this conversation, she rode in such a wild, reckless fashion, that Cap- tain Mordaunt’s heart was in his mouth again and again. Herhorse was well trained, but had an exceedingly delicate mouth, and she would give the reins a tug every now and then that made the animal spring forward, quivering with pain, : vain he warned her—she only laughed defi- antly—and, giving her horse its head, she flew = him like the wind. He did not follow her or he saw that the horse was almost at the end of his patience, and that hearing another behind him would make him perfectly unmanageable, He shouted to her to have a care, and after that he could do nothing but watch and wait. But fortunately his forebodings were not real- ized this time. In ten minutes Grace ie i back to him with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and rallied him saucily for his want of en- terprise. “* And,” said she, ‘you never told me how lendidly Emperor could Papi I put him at that broad ditch at the end of the common, and he took it like a deer! You must take me to the meet on Friday, Captain Mordaunt; you must, indeed. I am dying to hunt, and Em- peror would et me so well.” : Pp But I thought Lady Wimborne objected to it. ; ‘Oh, she wouldn’t mind, I am sure, if I were with you, and you would answer for Emperor’s behavior.” “Which I should not dare to do, for he is an | prid excitable animal, and never having been hunted, would be very likely to get uncontrollable. And, after all, it cannot worth while to throw away one’s life for a day’s amusement.” “What if one’s life is no pleasure to one?” ‘¢Oh, Miss Wimborne, the most forlorn, mea- ra sort of life is always better than none at all. " The county ball that night was a very bril- liant affair, and Graco was indisputably the belle of the evening. Handsome, and an heir- ess, sho had, of course, epg d of admirers, but ad set her heart upon one man, and all the homage she received else- where was worthless in her eyes. It was only when dancing with Jack that she looked smiling and pleased, and the moment he left her to make himself agreeable to any other woman, she seemed listless and depressed. Anastasia whispered to her once that she was attracting attention, and then she took refuge in the other extreme, and was feverishly gay, almost reck- less. At last she found her mother and begged “he fact of it is, [have a wretched head- to gohome. As this proposition quite coincided S : + “>= ee ee et a et nee Png * . with her ladyship’s wishes, Jack was hastiiy summoned, and informed of their wish. “T am getting so sick of balls; they are all alike,” said Grace, languidly. ‘‘ The drive home is quite the pleasantest part.” “ Well, yes, when one can smoke,” said the unfeeling Guardsman. ‘‘ But then, of course, you never can.” | ‘‘T think a cigarette is rather nice,” observed Grace, sympathetically. ae ‘¢ Nonsense, Grace!” put in her mother, with dignity. ‘“ What will Captain Mordaunt think of you if you talk in that way?” “T shall think she is half asleep, and doesn’t know what she says,” he answered, laughing, as he went off to obey her behest. Grace was radiant again when she found he was forced to give up his ne on Mr. Rogers’s account and ride inside with them. And how terribly loquacious she was on the way home! He was tired and harassed, and would have liked to be quiet; but Grace had been accus- tomed to shallow society men, who always ex- ted to be amused, and so she labored to en- in him when she was ready to cry with weariness herself. Anastasia, who was off duty, had a refreshing nap, while Lady Wimborne compromised mat- ters for a riety '’g sake, and simply nodded. Mrs. ara nt, who had not gone to the ball, had ordered some hot soup to be kept ready for them on their return, and after having partaken of this, they all retired to their respective rooms. But Graco had no sooner divested her- self of her finery (she had considerately allowed her maid to go to bed), than she stole into Anas- tasia’s room, and sat down by the fire with a very dejected air. — ‘“T am quite in despair,” she said, ‘and that is the fact. He won’t come to the point. Don’t you call it very odd?” 2 = amar ion anyhow,” replied Anasta- a, dryly. “ Disagreeable is no word for it. Iam get- ting quite thin and peaky. I shall lose all my looks if this kind of a goes on.” “Then make him speak.” + ' “T can’t. I have tried every thing I know, » and he is just as far off as ever.’ “Then, my dear’Grace, you had better give up the thing. There are heaps of men who would be only too glad to be in his place.” ‘*T dare say; but one never knows which it is they really want, us or our fortune; whereas, one is quite sure Captain Mordaunt would never marry for money.” “Oh, no! Of course he would rather have some than not; but that is quite natural. J should never ma a& man use he had money; but I shouldn’t marry him it he hadn’t, unless I were awfully in love, you know, and bape I suppose, I should be capable of any ing. “You never would be awfully in love, my dear; it is not in your nature.” ‘*T don’t know about that; but, at ay rate, I'd take good careI soon got out of it, if it were all on my side.” ‘It is very easy to talk, my dear.” “And very to act, too, if you have the proper spirit. I would have Captain Mordaunt at my feet in no time.” t “ce ow?” . “By snubbing him. A manof that sort, who has it all bis own way in the world, is sure to want the woman he fancies he can’t get. And, mony dear, you have made it so awfully evident that he has only to ask to have.” Grace colored with vexation and wounded ride. ‘“T don’t see why I should be uncivil to him when he is always nice and polite to me, and we are so much thrown together.” F “Tam never uncivil to him, and yet I don’t believe he would ever fancy I wanted to marry him. However, I was only giving you a sisterly hint, and as you don’t seem to relish my advice, supposing you let me go to bed?” *Oh, by all means! Iam sorry to have kept you up,” returned Grace, with extreme polite- ness, and walked off in a buff, Anastasia locking the door behind her noisily to show that she did not intend her to return, Grace was not very strong-minded, and when she found herself in the long, dark passage, with her candle flickering uneasily in the draught, and throwing strange shadows on the wall, her pulses began to quicken, and she wished with all her heart she had not had that little tiff with Anastasia. However, there was no help for it now, and the only thing, therefore, was to hasten to her own room. But before Grace could carry this resolution into effect, her candle gave whiati a or
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| ee Sn ER e > S a y a A BRAVE HEART. seemed like an expiring gasp, and a shadowy figure, with hollow, intent eyes, and pallid features, went swiftly but silently past her, and disappeared under a black archway that led to the unoccupied wing. Grace was too frightened to call out, and luckily it was not her habit to faint, so she just stood still for a minute gasping; and then made a wild dart for her own door, locked herself in, and sunk breathless into the first seat she could find. In a few minutes she recovered herself suffi- ciently to be able to search in all the cupboards and under the bed—a proceeding that comforted her exceedingly; and then, having barricaded the door and lighted all the candles, she hurried into bed, and, in spite of her unpleasant adven- ture, was soon fast asleep. CHAPTER IV. GRACE WINS THE GAME, Grace had made a stern resolution over night to speak to Mrs. Mordaunt of her adventure the first thing the next morning; but in broad day- light one can always misdoubt and ridicule the fears that were such a keen suffering in the darlmess, and Grace felt so wonderfully brave now, she was ready to persuade herself she had been the victim of a delusion. : “The fact was I was over-excited and_fat- ‘igued, and prepared to imagine anything,” she said to herself. There was to bo a dinner party at home that evening, and Grace was much gratified when Mrs. ordeunt esked her to arrange the flowers for the table. Coming in and finding her thus engaged, Jack Was profuse in his apologies, and declared it was a great deal too bad of his mother, although he commended her taste in the same breath, and smiled at her admirin y as sho stood ‘blushing among the flowers Ie erns, To do Jack justice, he did not intend to flirt with Grace Wimborne. The very fact that his mother aud Lady Wimborne wanted this mar- rlage was one reason for not talking nonsense to Graco, lest he should be led away by her provo- cations, and say more than he meant. Of course it was a difficult position for him, under the circumstances, for the match was so eligible in every way, and seemed so much a matter of course in the neighborhood, he was always being congratulated and having to deny the sot impeachment. Taen Grace was good-hearted and easy-going, and behaved well to his mother, who really liked her, and not being a woman of great pené- tration, failed to see any want of depth or earnestness in the other. But Captain Mordaunt had an ideal of his own, and he had determined to live and die an old bachelor rather than take a wife who fell so far short of it as Grace Wimborne. Grace was very much in earnest herself, as we know; but remembering Anastasia’s words the night before, she put on a little air of indif- erence, and said, “I know what would happen to my poor flower if I gave you one. I should find it in the ball presently, with all the fresh- ness stamped out of it, so I would rather keep it for somebody who is coming to-night, for he would be sure to value it more.” “You mean De Lacy, I suppose?” said Cap- | tain Mordaunt, ae ly; for men are so consti- tuted that they don’t ‘always care for others to have what they don’t want themselves. “T never mention names.” “What is the use, when every one can see that the fellow is spoony on you?” “ And ed er he were, it wouldn’t matter to you, Captain Mordaunt.’ “T should be ery, to see you throw yourself on such a fool.” - ere!” exclaimed Grace, triumphantly; you were saying the other day that men were meNT don’t call th t scandal. I was speaking on at scanda: was the exact and simple truth,” “T won't hard on you this time; but I really can’t allow you to ‘speak against Mr. De Lacy again, for [ am uncommonly fond of him.’ happy he would be if he only knew ‘“* How that!” “Perhaps he guesses,” said Grace, hazarding a sidelong glance at Jack. i ‘He ought to be kicked if he does—a miser- able little whipper-snapper like that!” “You are very severe upon the poor man, and Tam sure I can’t see why, for ho doesn’t inter- fere with you.” - I hate-a presumptuous fellow.” | ‘I can’t soe that ho is more presumptuous than other people.” . awa “c tain “Do you mean that for a cut at me, Miss Wimborne?” 3 “Not at all. I was speaking course. You must remember that has ten thousand a year.” ‘* Made by soap-boiling ys “ He didn’t boil soap.’ “Tf his father did, it comes to pretty much the same thing.” ‘“*T never said he was a gentlemen; but nowa- duys a man may marry a duke’s daughter if he only have money, let his birth be what it ma i . “‘T see you have a great hankering after the soap-boiling connection, Miss Wimborne; and, as he is more than willing, it only remains for me to wish you joy.” , 1 “Thank you!” said Grace, saucily. “I will let you know when the day is fixed.” _ L en she stood looking down, toying with a little bouquet she had just been making up; while the flush deepened on her face, and her pretty mouth quivered ever so slightly. Now, Jack was not in love with her, as we know; but he had a great weakness for pretty women, and Grace looked charming this after- noon in her simple serge dress, with collar and cuffs of snowy linen, and a sprig of scarlet gera- nium in her bosom. is that bouquet for me?” he said, after a long enerally, of- r. De y pause. “ce No. ” “ Why not?’ “Because you wouldn’t value it.” “ How do you know I shouldn’t value it?” And the foolish moth drew a little closer to the flame. Grace was really embarrassed, and overcome for the first time in her life, and her bashful- ness became her. “*T can’t tell you how I know,” she said; ‘* but women have a sort of instinct in these things which never deceives them. Now, if it was Mr. Ds Lacy—” ‘‘Confound Mr. De Lacy!” put in Captain Mordaunt, interjectionally. “T did not know you could be so cruel, Cap- ordaunt. I begin to feel quite afraid of Oils”? “*T have never been cruel to P san have I?” “Oh, no!” she said, in a fluttering breath; “but then—” “Well, go on.” “T have never been unkind to you.” “You were very unkind to me just now when you praised De Lacy.” ‘How does that hurt you?” “Tt makes me furiously jealous—that is all.” “T don’t care a straw about De Lacy,” said Grace, shyly. “‘Now that I know you don’t care for him, I am willing to admit that he is a good-natured sort of fellow; only I won’t have him taking you down to dinner to-night.” “T will down with whoever you like,” answered Grace, meekly; ‘‘ only please don’t let him_ be very. old, because, if so, he will only think of his dinner.” ‘ ‘“* And you want him to think of you?” “Weill, I should like him to talk. Dinner is such a long ceremony, one needs to have an agreeable neighbor.” ‘Tl see about that. Now, will you give me my bouquet?” waco hemided him the little one she had pre- pared; but he put it asido determinedly. ‘No; I want that sprig of geranium flower you are wearing in your ate! ** But that is mine.” “Exactly! That, is why I should like it,” said Captain Mordaunt, with the quiet audacity that most women thought so irresistible, “T don’t call that fair. I picked it out on pur- pose to wear to-night.” “Won't it answer the same purpose if I wear it_to-night?”? he asked, with a saucy smile. “‘ Besides, there will be no one to fascinate but ey and you promised me you wouldn’t him. 6 flirt wit kind,” re- he ack looked a little piqued, but fascinated too, “There! what do you say to my flowers?” And she held up tho little crystal basket she had just been arranging. , “They are almost as charming as you are,” “Upon my word, you deserve this sprig of geranium for such a pretty compliment.. Not that you really care to have it, though, of course. : he observed, in a ‘rather husky voice, that he didn’t see 6 And she gave him another of those bewilder- ing, sidelong glances of hers. ff men were always wise, it would be a good thing, of course, but then the world would be rather tame and dull, Captain Mordaunt lost his head for a few minutes as completely as if he had been a mere lad in the clutches of a clever coquette. M ; , ; Instead of contenting himself with the sprig of geranium now, he took the little hand too; nee finding that Grace did not resist, he drew her close up to him, and kissed her lips. t Grace’s head drooped, and she blushed like a ehada rose; but there was an expression of suppressed. __ : ‘ahs knew that 4 * ta triumph in her eyes, for man of honor to deal with. i Jack felt that he was undone—undone “SF “his own folly and a cunning woran’s 4/05. Grace stood looking down, Ling with a fern leaf, bashful, but by nO +,eans anxious to flee from the declar atigh that must needs follow the re Te se | kiss. ase _And the end of it was, poor Jack knew what expected. of him, and saw no help for it. \ How he cursed fate, and his own folly, and the sprig of geranium, and every thing, as he stood by Grace’s side, still holding her hand, because he did not know what else to do, but profoundly and painfully conscious that if she had attract- ed his fancy for a moment, she had no more touched his heart thanif she had been a Chinese pi " eS image or a Dutch doll! Here were all the happy dreams of his future annihilated by one foolish kiss, but the keenest ang to him was the recollection of Clara Trem- owe’s sweet, pale beauty, and, the touching grace of her smile, She might never have been any nearer to him than she was now—he was not even sure that he wished it, after all he had seen. At the same time he could not bear to build up a bar rier between himself and this possible delicious, bewildering happiness, But Grace was waiting all this while—waiting modestly. Still he knew she was not to Le trifled with, for all that; and since he should have to ask her sooner or later, he might as well get it over. But he could not feign what he did not feel, and it was better not to make pect pretense of passion, he thought, or Grace would expect ‘ee much of himlater. So he said, in a very sober, matter-of-fact way, “Will you marry me, Grace? I don’t sup) cose Lady Wimborne walt 2 | particularly object, if you are willing.” His voice was cold enough, and when Grace looked into his eyes for some ray of warmth there, he turned away resolutely. Grace hesitated a minute, not because she was doubtful about her answer, but because she wanted to make him a little more eager. How- ever, finding that sort of thing had no effect, she answered, with secret pique and outside sweet- ness: “‘ It must be quite as mamma wishes, Cap- tain Mordaunt. hatever my own feelings might be ina matter of this sort, I should al- Ways trate her to decide.” then Grace’s eyes filled in spite of her- ‘self, for she was sorely disappointed. For one brief, happy minute she had believed that Jack loved her, and his kiss still thrilled warm on her lips. But she was no fool, and un- derstood now that he had been led away by the impulse of the moment, and that his honor, not his heart, had prompted him to the offer he had just made. And, unfortunately, she loved him as much as she could love any one but herself. g how matters were, a generous woman would have forgiven him the kiss, and left him But Grace was not a generous woman, and, moreover, she fancied that she should scon win Jack after they were engaged. She liked him personally, also bis position and fortune, She wanted to triumph over Anasta- sia; and she thought it was quite time she was married. Jack felt that he must say something; and so togethet race laughed to hide her mortification. “Talways do get on with people,” she said. “Yes; but a busband isn’t like ‘ people,’ and there is a good deal for both to tionship of that kind.” “Id bear in: a rela- are say; but one does see a few happy couples; and,” added Grace, really softened y tl ye she bore him, ‘‘if one tries to do one’s y, if must come rizht in the end.” This little speech touched him, for Grece was evidently sincere, and he had_ hitherto looked upon her as a mere butterfly, who just srericd | through life without seeing its. more seriouisj:i:.O. $ => = ae eae __ = ee why they shouldn’t get on pretty weil , i a f |
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self for not speaking ET SS eee era ee ge ee ene = wr = wv knowledge that t e He answered gently, but sadly, ‘‘ Yes, I sup- pre that’s the right way to look at the thing; ut most of us would like to make duty and happiness compatible if we could. After all, duty by itself is rather cold comfort.” . Grace sighed, and was searching for her an- swer, when Anastasia came in, and Captain Mordaunt immediately made his escape. ‘‘ What a confounded fool I have been!” was the refrain of all his thoughts that afternoon; and somehow the iteration became still more obtrusive and painful when, on going to his room in the twit ight, he had just a peep of Miss - Tremlowe sitting over the fire alone in a weary, pensive attitude. *vHe was almost tempted to go in and cheer her up by few kind words, only he remembered pig engagement, and felt that Grace a ee eo dar yarcel’ aggrieved by any atten- tion of this sort to Mary:5 S0verness. He made the dinner-party &", excuse to him- to Lady Wiimborne that night. ie He had just got into his dress-clothes, and had sent his servant off to help down-stairs, when he heard, with dismay inexpressible, his moth- er’s voice at the door, asking if she might come in. Of course he couldn’t say ‘‘ No,” and braced himself for what was coming. ‘Oh, my dear Jack!” said Mrs. Mordaunt, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him firsé on one cheek and then on the other; ‘Lady Wimborne has just told me a little secret, of you, you naughty boy, to let me hear such news as that from any one but yourself. How- ever, 1 am so happy I am obliged to forgive you! When is the wedding to be?’ “ Oh, there’s no hurry about that!” answered Jack, coolly. ‘‘We must see how we pull to- gether first.” ; ‘No one can_help getting on with Grace, she is so amiable! Lady Wimborne was saying just now that having been such a dutiful daughter, she was sure to make a good wife.” “That is the sort of thing all mothers consider to say at such times, don’t they?” dryly. ‘And I dare say the e poor thing is at last dis- posed of makes them forget her faults!” “Don’t be so cynical, Jack! A man who is just on the brink of matrimony ought to think all women angels.” ' “Tam not just on the brink of matrimony, mother, thank goodness!—and even if I were, TE don’t su quite blind. . Mrs. Mordaunt looked at him with an anx- fous, puzzled expression. She had expected to find him in high spirits, and had never seen him look so glum. And yet if he didn’t love Grace Wimborne, why had he asked her to bo his wife? “ At any rate, my dear,” she said ately, ‘ Gra d it necessar inquired Jack, pose my happiness would make me ce is a very nice girl, an to have her for a daughter. my great wish for three or four years past; al- though, of course, I wouldn’t have said so for the world, in case I might have influenced you to such a step against your own wishes.” “Tam sure you never did; and you are so deep there is no sounding you. However, I am quite relieved to find that you don’t object.” And, offering his arm to her with ironical ravity, he was about to escort her down-stairs, ut she stopped short at the school-room | door. : “Don't wait for me, Jack; Iam ust oing in | x Miss Treclowe to | to see if I can’t persuade poor . t eome down a little while this evening. It must be so very dull for her up there always alone, and now—” +"" " ’ : “Now I am. engaged, it is not a dangerous. civility,” put in_ Jack, in rather a bitter tone. * But how would it be if I came to like her bet- ter than Grace?” : i ae ad “Oh, hush, Jack! and don’t talk in such ‘a, dreadful way,” she exclaimed, in a‘ s ests Migdeaut oeiteced, Manan aptain Mordaunt muttered, s Weaee his teeth as he turned oe Hib aa walked dowr-stairs. Mrs. Mordaunt felt al- most afraid it was a naughty word, but as she ‘hadn't quite heard it, she thought it unneces- sary to make any remark. a ‘“Well, what does Miss Tremlowe say?” in- uired Jack, with suppressed eagerness, when tis mother joined him in the drawing-ro minutes later. Re ‘‘She says she has a bad headache, and would rather stay quietly in her room; and, after all, I dare say itis just as well as it is, for o you know, Jack, it struck me this evening for the and I am so glad—although it wasn’t quite kind ed'| * “| you cy FE eator ss A BRAVE HEART. Brey time what a remarkably handsome girl she is! Jack smiled esokiee “You never made that discovery until to- night, mother?” “TIT never observed her very particularly, I sup ,” she answered, with an embarrassed air. ‘‘ But, really, poor dear! placed as she is, beauty is a great. misfortune. must be very glad she is in such safe quarters.” “Humph!” said Jack, and bastened to change the subject. | feeding skillfully if it is not to go out altogether. You would be in an awkward situation if he were to write to you one of these days, and sa he had mistaken his feelings, and therefore it would be better for you, as well as for himself, that your engagement should cease,” ‘‘He would never dare to do that, mamma.” “T should stay if I were you, at any rate Mrs. Tremlowe | until your engagement is known in the neigh- borhood, and you have a stronger hold upon him than you have now, It’s a pity, for some things, that you have set your heart on Jack The day had been such an exciting one to | Mordaunt, Grace; but as xu have, we must Grace that her adventure of the night before | try and keep him up to e mark. To-night quite slipped out of her memory until, the din- ' you can share my roomif you like, as Anastasia ner party over, and the last guest departed, she | Objects to a belfellow ; aoe perhaps Mrs. Mor- went up to her room, and began to take off her | daunt will be able to suggest a better arrange- : _, | ment for to-morrow. Only that, of course, you Grace and Anastasia always shared one maid | are a iat for a good deal of ridicule, my r. bracelets and rings. between them when they were on a visit, as | dea obody does believe in ghosts now- Lady Wimborne thought it was such a tax on | adays.” their friends to take three with them. Grace, therefore, often preferred to undress herself yether than wait until Bertha was disengaged. ce quite agree with all you say, mamma, and, of course, it is much more feasible that I saw one of the maids than a ghost; at the same time To-night she made up her mind to go to bed I am quite positive I did not see one of the while every oné Was. about, and try and get_to sleep before the ghostly timme came. So she lay down, delightfully brave, aid in less than twenty minutes was fast asleep. _ : She did not know how long this had lasted, when the feeling as of a cold hand on her face awoke her suddenly; and springing up in bed, she looked straight into the pallid face and hol- low eyes of the terrible apparition she had en- countered in the passage the night before. CHAPTER V. JACK MAKES HIS PROPOSAL IN DUE FORM. GRACE was so completely stunned with fright that she fell back on her pillow like one dead, and could not have lifted even her hand to save her life. But after awhile she recovered her- self sufficiently to open her eyes, and look about her. That is to say, she would have looked about her, only that the lamp had gone out, and the room was in utter darkness. Now, as the lamp was wont to burn ten ho’ and she had taken care to have it replenishe the last thing, its sudden extinction could not have been accidental, and must have had a far more alarming cause. ““T wonder if I have ever been very wicked?” sighed Grace. ‘‘ This must be sent me as a pun- ishment for something bad I have done; and, of course, if I don’t know what it is, I can’t re- pee or atone. It can’t be wrong to care for ack; and if I used to flirt once upon a time, I never drove any man mad, or made him com- mit suicide, as one hears of girls doing some- times. Perhaps Jack may have deserted some girl for me, only she wouldn’t have had time since this afternoon to hear of it, and die of a broken heart. It is more likely there is a fam- affection- | ily ghost, and they have put me in the haunted T am glad | chamber. : ndeed, it has been | 1 | by This view of the matter was not reassuring and it seemed terribly feasible to Grace huddled up under the clothes, listening to the oag Tae her own heart, and wondering fearfully what would happen next. But as nothing did happen next, she became gradually a little braver, and ventured to un- cover. her face. There were a few sparks re- maining in the te, and a piece of stick ignited under their persuasion, and sent up a aint flame, which showed Grace that the room was empty, and just as she had left it over- fiting by the little flash of courage which this discovery sare her, she jumped out of bed, relighted the lamp and her toilette candles, looked in evéry corner of the room, and then a to bed to wait anxiously for the morning. No sooner did she hear the servants about than she slipped on her presing corn and went to her mother’s room, where she told her story. Mame, I saw the face as plainly as I see now; and for the second time,” said Grace, Seana Cally + “T could not have been mis- taken twice, you know.” “Perhaps not; but I really don’t understand it. I havé never allowed ag bor a to believe in supernatural appearances. d_ why, indeed, if such things were possible, should you be picked out as the victim?” ee “Tt don’t know, mamma; but as it is clear that, Lam, the sooner we get away from Burl- ingham the better.” ‘ “What! and leave Jack? Nonsense, my dear; that wouldn’t do atall. Between our two selves, the young man is not very desperately in Jove; and the flame, what there is of it, requires - maids. I am naturally fanciful, mamma, as Ee know, and have always keen the first to augh about ghosts, and all that sort of thing; but after what I have scen the last two days, I could believe anything.” And Grace looked very much in earnest and, moreover,.s0 agitated and overcome, that Lady Wimborne Teng, Up her maid, and told her to get the girl a cup us strong tea as quickly as possible. WA oy 4 his certainly comforted Grace; but it stagger- ed Lady Wimborne to find that even in the broad eylight, with others about her, Grace held stanchly to her story, and was quite as certain of her own impressions as she had been when in the darkness the night before. “ But being a practical, matter-of-fact sort of woman, the first thing Mrs. Mordaunt asked, when all this was repeated to her, was if Grace had locked her door when she went to bed. ‘ Because,” she added, ‘‘although I should only have respectable servants in my house, one of them might walk in her sleep.” “Could I manage to see the servants?” in- uired Grace. ‘‘I should know the face again irectly I saw it.” “T will explain everything to the house- keeper, my dear, and I am sure she will manage it somehow when paey ate at dinner to-day. There is a slide in the kitchen, leading into the servants’ hall, and it would, of course, be used at meal-times, for the bet le etc. If you placed yourself there, you could examine the women without being seen yourself, or excitin suspicion. But, tell me, do you remem your door was locked when Lady Wimborne this morning ‘‘T was so excited and coniused I turned the key round half a dozen times at least, so that I might have locked and unlocked it two or three times without knowing.” ‘That is unfortunate, because we can’t get at a solution of the mystery without some informa- tion of that kind. Do you always lock your door at night?’ “Generally; but I am apt to forget it at times.” ‘* And last night you had a good deal to think of,” observed Mrs. Mordaunt, archly. ‘‘ We may put it down as probable that you forgot it last night, may we not?” _ ‘As possible, rather. I can hardly imagine it to have been probable when you consider that I had had a serious fright the night before, and was still very tremulous, But, unfortunately, I can’t be certain, as I was in such a hurry get to bed while I heard people about.” “T am afraid we sha’n’t easily get to the bottom of the mystery,” observed . Mor- daunt, smiling in a way which showed she did not attach vi much importance to Grace’s story; ‘* but, at any rate, I will see that you have another room prepared for you to-night.” “Mamma was proposing that I should have a bed in her dressing-room, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Mordaunt.” ‘“‘On the contrary, my dear, I think it would be an excellent arrangement, because you can keep the door onee between, and call out if you feel at all afraid.” ie you; that will do very well,” Grace replied. ack had thought of running up to town that day on pretense of business, and so putting off the evil hour of his interview with y Winm- borne. But he reflected afterward that, as he could not put it off altogether, the next best thing was to get it over; and so watching his oppetemty: he caught her ladyship on the wag 4 r oe went out to ae a
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eo he Og ce TR a ee, ee A BRAVE HEART. stairs, and carrying her off into the library, formally asked her younger daughter’s hand. Lady Wimborne did not think it necessary to look surprised, but responded most graciously. “IT do assure you, dear Captain Mordaunt, thére is no one in the world to whom I would so gladly give my beloved child as to you, for I now you will be good to her. We won’t spoil all the romance of the situation by talking about business to-day, will we? I am sure you will consider dear Grace’s interests in every way that is proper; and thatisall Task. She isa very amiable, sweet girl, Captain Mordaunt, though I say it, who shouldn’t, perhaps; and a good daughter always makes a good wife.” Jack smiled internally. ‘ nck “And,” continued her lad ia wiping her eyes, ‘sadly as I shall miss her, I am ready to give her up to you at any time that you demand this Povatin. on my part. A mother must not consider her own feelings at such a time; and to see my dear ones happy will make me happy too. I suppose you and dear Grace have not settled yet when the wedding is to be?” ‘We have not spoken about the wedding-day yet,” replied Jack, with an embarr yet resolute air. ‘‘ We are only just engaged, you see,” “TI know; but long engagements are a great mistake. I am sure you will agree with me there. They wear people’s affections out, and their courage too; and you see, my dear Cap- tain Mordaunt, when there is nothing to wait for, delay causes a good many Unpleasant re- marks.” ie “Til take care that none are made where I am, my lady,” he answered, grimly. “They are not likely to be made where you are, but they will be made, for all that, and my dear child must be the sufferer. However,” she added, with affected gayety, ‘I will leave ou to settle all this between yourselves; and I 1ave no doubt you will come to a pleasant understanding.” saying, her ladyship rose with a formidable rustle, offered Jack her hand, and then sailed out, looking from behind, as he irreverently said to himself, all false hair and flounces. She was just the sort of mother-in-law Jack thought peculiarly objectionable, but he was in for it now, and could not help himself. But if he found no other way after he was married of resisting her aggressions, he must let the place, and ge abroad. Anything would be better, he decided, than having “dear Grace’s” mother always at his elbow to keep him up to his duty. But there was no need to anticipate evils. He was not married yet, and if only some better match came in Grace’s way, he fancied she would soon give him the goby. This was a consummation devoutly to be hoped, and one which would even find a place in his prayers. For he knew that no worse destruction could come 5 oe a man than to be mated with one whom he neither respected nor loved. Of course it was his own fault, but then ve few of us are so severely punished for a foolis impulse as Jack had been; and it seemed hard that all the happiness of his life was to go toex- Diets one error, which could scarcely be called sin. ' The next few days passed without incident of any kind. Jack was but a cold lover and Grace often felt very mortified and hurt; but he treated her with all proper consideration before others, and was always ready to ride, drive, or walk at her bidding, so that she was forced to be satisfied, and look forward to better days. He also gave her handsome presents, to make up for other deficiencies, and Grace made the | But then Grace was as obstinate as a mule, and had found hitherto that a dogged persis- tence generally wore other people out: and so was sure of her own way in the end. She never doubted that she should be able to manage Jack as she managed her mother and Anastasia, and made up her mind to open the campaign on the first opportunity. Something that she heard two days after her engagement prejudiced her more than ever against pada me which she came to regard as an impossible home for her, either in the present or the future. Jack had an old nurse who had been pen- sioned off when he and his sister grew up, and lived now very happily in a little cottage in the village. When she heard of Jack’s engagement, she went up to the house directly to ask if the news were true, and to beg to be allowed to wish the young lady nappies if it were. ° Unfortunately, Grace and Jack were out riding; and, as Molly’s ‘‘rheumatics ” made lo- comotion difficult, Mrs. Mordaunt promised for Grace that she should go and see her, instead of giving Molly another jourhey. Grace did not seem exactly to relish the idea, for she always said that she hated common peo- le, and did not consider that even long and aithful service constituted any claim, as, of course, they had always been paid for all they had done. _ Jack saw that she was not very willing, and, putting it down as shyness, offered to accom- pany her; but, just as they were starting, his steward came on business, and Grace had, after all, to go alone. Anastasia, who was strolling up and down the terrace in the sunshine with Mr. Rogers, laughed at her as she passed, and said that she would not make a very favorable impression on Molly if she did not put on a more amiable face; and this, of course, rather increased Grace’s ill- humor. ‘‘ It is so ridiculous having old servants,” she said to herself, crossly, as she marched through the lanes. ‘‘t will take care I don’t have any thing of the sort when I keep house.” However, the fresh air and the sunshine in- fluenced Grace pleasantly in spite of herself; and, by the time she reached Moliy’s cottage, ri was inclined to be civil, if not exactly cor- ial. She found the old woman sitting in state by the fireside, in the very brown silk dress she had worn at Jack’s christening, and photographs of the family hung upon the mantie-piece in con- spicuous positions. She got up, in spite of her rheumatism, to make Grace a curtsey, for the match was one Molly thought very suitable in every way, and a credit to the family. Grace supposed she ought to shake hands, and did it. Then she sat down by the fire, knowin que well that she was going to be entertain or the next hour with an account of every thing Jack had ever done or said as a boy ad nauseam. For Grace was not capable of the kind of tenderness which would have made all these little reminiscences so attractive to some women, and felt horribly bored even in antici- pation. \ However, Molly was no fool, and told her stories so graphically, that Grace was quite amused in spite of herself, and began to show some interest in the conversation; especially when it branched off from Jack’s infantile dis- orders and boyish peccadilloes to the family history generally. about all over the place, searching for her, until it was enough to make your bl run cold. At last he took to arm at the edge of the pit, and howling there; and as he would not conie away, people began to think there must be something in it.” “T wonder they didn’t think so at first, con sidering that their mistress was missing,” put in Grace. ‘“To be sure, miss, they might as well, but, somehow, they didn’t; and when they did begin to suspect, the difficulty was to get any one to go down, you see, as it was a great risk, and the colonel did not offer any reward.” ‘*T wonder that didn’t make them doubly sus- picious.” ‘Perhaps it did; but in those days farmers and servants were a good deal more under a gentleman’s thumb than they are now, and no- body liked to accuse the master, and get a horsewhipping for his pains.” ‘‘ Well, what happened at last?’ “The parson took it up, out of revenge, ft is: su eaetntor the colonel had behaved very ill to his daughter. He got hold of a man who had also a grudge against the master, and they ticd a couple of long ladders securely together, and went down the pit, where they found her lady- ship lying, all bruised, and broken, and dead, poor heart! with a great gash in her throat.” Grace shuddered first, and then laughed. ‘What a horrible story!” she said. ‘I hope the colonel was hanged.” ‘“No, miss. He saved them the trouble, for when he saw he was found out, he mounted bis favorite charger, blindfolded it with his pocket handkerchief, and, turning its head toward the pit, spurred it forward, and disappeared imio the gaping hole beyond.” ‘‘J am glad of that,” the girl said. ‘‘I hope he was killed by the fall!” “Of course he was killed, miss, for the pit was nearly a hundred feet deep; but the odd part of it was,”—lowering her voice mysteri- ously—‘‘ his body was never found.” ‘Oh! how was that?” ‘* Nobody ever knew, miss. They went down directly and looked for him; but, though the horse lay there still warm, and almost palpitat— ing, there was no sign of the master.” ‘**Perhaps he was underneath, and had been buried in the mud by the force of the fall.” ‘That is just what Miss Tremlowe said whem I told her the story,” said old Molly. “ Butt should think they searched thoroughly while. they was about it, shouldn’t you?’ ‘*One would think so, But how came yeu to: tell Miss Tremlowe this story?’ ‘*T don’t know, miss, lam sure. She i; oftem kind enough to come in here, and sit with me a bit, andI am apt to dwell a good deal on these old stories with people who will listen to me.” “‘T shouldn’t have thought they would have interested her,” observed Grace, rather - tily. ‘**T don’t know about that, miss. Her grandfather was the youngest brother of the very James Mordaunt I have been telling yeu about; but, you see, he married below him, amd fell into poverty, and his daughter ran away from her husband, so that the two branches of. the family got divided, you see.” ‘**Do Mrs. Mordaunt and her son know about the relationship?’ “Tt can scarcely be called arelationship new, miss, being so far back; but Madam told me herself that Miss Tremlowe was a sort of fourth cousin, and asked me if I didn’t think she was a little like some of the old family pictures. But I do say Mr. Jack is just a wonder, consid- ere you have noticed Pw ourself, miss?” ‘ ve never seen Miss Tremlowe. most of these to her friends. But, to do her | cring what bad blood there has been in some of ‘*Really, now; and been in the same houses justice, she would have given them all thank- | th iss,” sai 1 h fully for one look of real love, or a kiss that | Eonar ley ose ale Seth bo came from the heart. Meanwhile, she had seen nothing more of the apparition, and was beginning to feel quite rave again, although her peep into the ser- vants’ hall had satisfied her that her nocturnal {visitor had not been one of Mrs. Mordaunt’s maids. A line of ruddier, more unghostly faces it would have been impossible to see, and she dismissed that theory with contumely, But certainly,” she said to herself, ‘I will have the mystery solved before I come here to live, otherwise I will make Jack let the place, and take another which hasn’t so many dark passages in it. I don’t see why I should be frightened out of my wits just for the sake of living at one’s own place, when we should have a good position anywhere; and, what is more, I won’t be,” concluded Grace, who seemed to ignore the possibility of Captain Mordaunt’s will turning out, in the long run, to be strouger than her own. t 7 paouent, as Grace was about to belong to the family, she need not be particularly discreet. ‘‘Now there’s his great uncle, James—whose portrait stands on your right as you go into the picture-gallery—he was a wicked gentleman if you like!” ‘* How was he wicked?” “Well, miss, he loved all ladies better than his own wife,” answered Molly, “and used to leave her all alone at home while he went to Court, and amused himself. Her ladyship, who was a daughter of the Earl of Sydham had a great fortune; but he spent it all, and then, as she was not likely to come into anything more,# and was rather in his way, he cut her throat and threw her body down a deep pit that there used to be over yonder by the chalk-kiln, even so late as in my time.” “ And how was it found out?” inquired Grace. “Well, miss, her ladyship had a favorite dog —she had no children, poor dear!—and when the dog missed its mistress, it went howling with her over a fortnight? Thatis odd!” said old Molly, innocently. ‘‘ Perhaps she’s ill?” ‘“‘T fancy she has been rather poorly—I heard somebody say so,” answered the girl, carelessly ; ‘but, in any case, she could not attend to her duties properly if she were always in the draw- ing-room. “No; but always and never are very differ- ent words!” said old Molly, decidedly. " “‘ Mad- am is very kind to every one about her; but eee s she thinks her company might object to iss T'remlowe because she is only a governess.’” Grace looked half inclined to resent this speech. But, remembering that old Molly was a privileged person, she simply said, ‘‘ As far as I am concerned, I don’t see anything to object: to in a governess, if they are ladylike and well-mannered; but, of course, I have nothin to do with Mrs. Mordaunt’s arrangements. dare say she does ask Miss Tremlowe to come into the drawing-room, but the young lady pre- fers to keep quiet after the fatigue of teaching.”
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os es a 83 — — “Perhaps that isit. But it is a pity, too, for iam sure you would like her, miss, and she is quite the gentlewoman.” ‘‘T dare say,” answered Grace, with supreme indifference; ‘‘ but, having my sister with me, I don’t want any other companion. But you didn’t finish your story, Mrs. Loveday.” ‘‘No more I did. Well, they couldn’t find the colonel’s body, miss, but her ladyship’s lay in state, and all the neighborhood round came to see her, and spoke of her with affectionate pity and respect. But the strange part of it was that every time the door was opened her pet do stole in, and lay down in her cold bosom, an At and snarled at.those who took him away. And so cunning and determined was he, that when she was laid in her coffin he hid himself in the folds of her dress, and so was buried with her, in spite of them all. And now, when any misfortune is coming to the family, you are sure to see her ladyship, with the dog at her heels, gliding through the passages—although she only just stares at you with her great, hol- low eyes, and then rushes away.” ; peer turned very pale, although she tried to augh. How very absurd, Mrs. Loveday! No one believes in ghosts nowadays.” “T dare say not, miss; still, what you see A aca you are apt to believe; and I saw her adyship and the dog, just as plain as I see you this moment, the very day, as Madam heard afterward, that poor Miss Mary had died.” “Oh, pray, don’t tell me such dreadful things!” exclaimed Grace, agitatedly. .‘‘I shall never be able to live at Burlingham if you do!” ‘“*Well, but Madam has lived there these thirty years, miss, and has never been molested in any way—indeed, she scolds me if I talk about it, and says I am very foolish to believe ch things, for that her ladyship isn’t very Tcely to want to come back to a place where she suffered so terribly. But, then, she mayn’t have any choice in the matter, may she?” ““T. have told you { don’t believe in anything of the kind,” returned Grace, the more decid- edly that she had a terrible fear on her. ‘ And now I must G0, foritis getting late. Good after- noon, Mrs, Loveday. Ill come and see you again before I go away,” she concluded, by way of getting off pleasantly, for she had certainly no intention of paying Molly another visit. And then she shook hands with the old woman, and hurried back to the Hall. CHAPTER VI. WHAT JACK THOUGHT OF THE GHOST. Captain MorRDAUNT was still busy with his steward when Grace got in, but she had not been ten minutes in the drawing-room before he joined them. ‘*T am so sorry I was not able to go and meet you,” he said, seating himself by Grace; ‘‘ but when once Langham gets hold of me he is inex- orable—he says it is because he does not often cre the opportunity. How did you like old olly? ‘* Not at all,” she answered decidedly. ‘‘ She told me such horrible stories, I shall be afraid to go to bed.” Really?” “Really and truly. I did not know there was a ghost in the family until this afternoon, and I ead have preferred to be ignorant of the act. ‘* But you don’t believe in those things, do ou? ‘¢ What are you to do when a person says to you, ‘I know it is true, for I saw it with my own eyes?” “Laugh in her face. Molly will tell you that 1 always treat her traditions in that irreverent fashion. ‘But did your recent uncle kill his wife, and then throw her body into a pit?” “Undoubtedly, if the family chronicles are worthy of credence.” “And then commit suicide in the same place?” : “Yes; so far Molly is implicitly to be be- lieved, but all the rest is rubbish.” - But then she is ready to swear she saw the ghost of Lady Edith on the very day your sis- ter died in India.” ‘“‘T know she is. She has told me that stor twenty times, at least; but if she were to multi- ply the twenty by one hundred, it would not make any difference, as far as 1am concerned because it is quite easy to understand how and why her delusion arose.” “How did it?” ‘We had just received a telegram from my brother-in-law telling us of my poor sister’s dan- gerous lilness, and, her imagination being ex- ' it is because she feels so lonely, don’t you?” A BRAVE HEART. cited and her feelings stirred by these sorrowful tidings, Molly was ready to fancy any thing. Under those circumstances, to walk through a dark passage was sufficient.” “‘T dare say I am foolish, but somehow I can’t help believing her, although I know that your explanation sounds feasible: and I am quite sure that I should die of fright if I had to live at Burlingham.” “Indeed!” answered Jack, coldly, but with a secret thrill of hope. ‘‘ Unfortunately, I can’t transfer my house to a locality that you might choose and like; and then you will pardon me if I say that I like it very well where it is—in spite of the ghost.” Grace pouted demonstratively. “T can’t think why it signifies where people live if they have those they care for with them.” ““Well, I am very conservative by nature, you see. I can’t bear even to cut a tree down that I can remember as a boy, and in a new place I should miss all the pleasantness of old pe Don’t you understand that feel- in f'No,” answered Grace, curtly. ‘I think it is absurd. Fancy caring for an uncomfortable place just because your great-grandfather was born there!” “My great-grandfather was not born here, and I can not say I think the place uncomforta- ble.” : “T only meant that it was uncomfortable from having such disagreeable traditions at- tached to it, of course. You couldn’t be happy in a house if you were afraid to move a step in it after dark.” “Certainly not; but I think one could easily get over that difficulty. If there was nothing to be afraid of, one would take care to conquer one’s fears; if there was something to be afraid of, one would take care to conquer that.” ** And if ‘that’ were something you could not conquer?” Captain Mordaunt smiled. “Don’t you believe in impossibilities?’ he said. ‘But I need not ask the question, since you believe in ghosts.” “T did not say I actually believed in them; but some things are very strange.” ‘‘A great many things are very strange, and incomprehensible, too: but I don’t see why we need afraid of what we do not understand. The greatest philosopher the world ever knew could not explain even half the mysteries of na- ture, and this makes one tolerant of one’s own ignorance, and satisfied not to pry too deeply. e spirits of the dead may be about and around us always; but I never knew a sensible man yet who was satisfied that they were allowed to be- come visible to the living.” ‘* Still,” observed Grace, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, ‘‘ you will admit that it was very strange Ishould have seen twice since I came to Burlingham a figure exactly like that old Molly describes; because, you see, I never heard the story until to-day, and, therefore, imagination can have had nothing to do with i “That was an odd coincidence, certainly ; but “T can’t,” said Mary. ‘I promised Miss Tremlowe 1 wouldn’t, because she said it would frighten her.” “T should think it would, indeed! But some- thing must be done,” said Jack, refiectively. “'Won’t she eat, or can’t she?” “She can’t, uncle Jack. I have seen her try so hard, and almost cry with vexation whe she couldn’t get a mouthful down. She says she doesn’t want to die until she has seen her mother and sister again.” “ And why then?” ‘‘T don’t know, but I fancy she is very un- happy. She wouldn’t cry so if she weren’t, would she?” “Tt may be only weakness,” returned Cap- tain Mordaunt; ‘ but, in any case, it must be looked to. Where is Miss 'Tremlowe now?” ‘She is lying down in her room; but she said I was to cal her directly I went up-stairs, and be sure to wake her if she were asleep.” “Run and talk to Mr. Rogers; he is beckon- ing you,” said Captain Mordaunt, suddenly putting little Mary down. And when the child was out of hearing, he bent forward, so as only to be heard by his mother, and said, ‘‘ Have MA noticed anything the matter with Miss: ‘remlowe, mother?” Mrs. Mordaunt glanced up at him sharply. “Nothing, to my knowledge. She is looking a little pale just now, but she tells me that the winter always tries her, and she shall be all right directly we get a little warm weather. The fact is, I dare say that she worries about hei sister, and by confining herself to two rooms does not give herself a chance of forgetting her troubles.’ “*Couldn’t you persuade her to mix with us a little more, mother?” ““T have tried repeatedly, but she always begs earnestly to be excused, and takes great pains to persuade me that she is better amused with « book than she would be by our conversation down-stairs.” ‘““' Yes; only the question is, what is good for her; and J am really afraid she will fall ill on your hands if you don’t take care.” “Well, but what can I do more thanT have done?” said Mrs. Mordaunt, rather impatiently. ‘*T can’t insist upon her coming into the draw- ing-room without seeming arbitrary.” **T don’t know, mother. You would make your own daughter doa thing of that kind if you thought it good for her.” “Certainly; but in that case I should have the right—in Miss Tremlovw e’s I have none.” ‘ Anyhow, I should insist upon her seeing a doctor, mother, for I am sure she is much more ili than you have any idea of.” *‘Have you seen her, then, lately?’ inquired Mrs. Mordaunt, rather suspiciously. “No, All my information comes from Mary. She seems quite distressed at her governess’s state of health. She says she often goes all day without eating 4 hive ‘** Why didn’t Mary tell me this?” “Miss Tremlowe made her promise not to do so, lest you should be alarmed.” “*It is a great pity; for, of course, Miss Trem- lowe is under my charge, and I should not I dare say the whole thing might be exp. like her to be “ ected. But, having so much and accounted for naturally.” company lately, [ have not been able to look ““T don’t see how.” after her as I could wish; and she wil! not com- “Tt might have been a living person who | plain, I see, however poorly she may be. Thank went into your room from curiosity or acci- MA for your hint, Jack. I will take care she dent.” as proper attention and advice, and ina few ‘“‘ Any one in this house who was curious about | days, when I am alone again, I shall be able to me could gratify her curiosity in a far more le- | keep her more under my own eye.” itimate way; and as for accidents of that sort ‘““You mean when I am gone,” was Jack’s hey are not likely to occur in a well-re lated | mental correction. ‘Poor mother! She is not house like this,” answered Grace, decidedly. uite sure even yet that I might not be danger- Jack shrugged his shoulders, and taking her | ous, although my claws have been drawn. Bod cup from her, marched off with it to his moth- perbaps she is right. Grace’s pink-and-white er’s tea-table, and stayed there. Grace waited | prettiness is in no way to be compared with the for a little while thinking he would return; but | pale, sweet loveliness of the other, and there is finding that he had taken little M: on his | something about Miss Tremlowe that not only knee, and seemed very well entertained, she re- | pleases the eye, but satisfies the heart.” tired to her own room ina huff. Jack’s reverie fivished with a sigh, and he “Uncle Jack,” said Mary with a sagacious | buried himself in a newspaper, to hide the nod of her golden head, ‘ t wish you would | trouble and yearning in his eyes. come eee: and talk to Miss Tremlowe a Grace was particularly charming that even-, little. She is always crying now, andIe ing, and chatted incessantly; but Captain Mor- ‘‘Then why doesn’t she come among usa little more, Mary? We should all be pleased to see her, and the change would do her good. She will mope herself into an illness if she doesn’t take care.” “*T believe she is ill now,” returned Mary, wisely. ‘‘She is so thin, uncle Jack, and some- times she doesn’t eat one mouthful all day.” “Oh, but that is very wrong!” exclaimed Jack, looking alarmed. ‘‘ You must tell grand- mamina that, Mary.” ed k q xpect | daunt was pre-occupied, and occasionally answered at random. Her sensitive vanity was wounded at last, and she said, in a petulant tone, ‘‘ You don’t listen to a wordI say. I have to ask you the same question three times at least before I can get an answer.’ “T beg your pardon,” he answered, coloring faintly. ‘I have a miserable headaclie.” “You seem to be very subject to headaches,” she answered, suspiciously. “Am I? I was not aware of it myself; but I ; bose PS
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A BRAVE HEART. 9 bow to your superior wisdom. They say people often know us better than we know ourselves. But won’t you sing us something, Grace; and listening, I shall forget all my pains.” Grace was mollified, and rustled off to the piano without waiting to be pressed. She sung well; and as Jack was fond of music, he would hang over her at these times begging for one song more, and flattering her immensely by his appreciation. ‘o-night he was not so demonstrative. Still, he listened attentively, and thanked her when she had finished; and as Grace saw that he really was out of sorts, she forgave him all other omissions for this once. He was thankful when his duties of host were over, and he had handed the last bedroom candlestick, and shut out the las. skirt, although that was Mrs. Mordaunt’s. Rogers had to be entertained for the next half-hour; but he was never very conversa- tional over his pipe, and, moreover, had a good deal to think of that night, as he had proposed to Anastasia in the course of the evening. Having announced this fact laconically, and made a comical allusion to their being compan- ions in misfortune, he subsided into silence, and left Jack to his reflections undisturbed. But he started up when the clock struck one, and said, laughing, ‘‘ Upon my word, this sort of thing won’t do now, Mordaunt! We must get into the habit of keeping regular hours now that we are almost married men, or we shall be laying up for ourselves an awful reserve of curtain lectures. You’ve got the handsomest of the pair, but Anastasia is the better tempered, so that 1 don’t envy you, after all. It would be awful fun, wouldu’t it, if we were both of us married on the same day?” _Jack though it would be “ awful” to be mar- ried to Grace Wimborne on any day; and, still more, entertained faint hopes of escaping his doom, but he did not say so, and Rogers, who took his misfortunes cheerfully, went off laugh- ing to bed. } ack drew his chair closer to the fire then, and lighted another pipe. It was no use hurry- ing to bed when he was sure not to sleep, and this quiet hour by his own fireside was always the best of the day. He had got about half-way through his Pipe, and had just come to the philosophical concilu- sion that all the while a man could smoke life would always have its compensations, when he fancied he heard a step in the hall. His den was right at the end of the hall, built out into the garden; but it was not often people had occasion to »ass it, as the staircase leading to the west wing was virtually unused. He was naturally surprised, therefore, at hearing any one in this part of the house, and Opening the door softly, caught up the iamp, and peered cautiously into the gloom. At first he could perceive nothing, but pres- ently saw a shadow detach itself from the other sh ere waver for a moment, and then glide on noiselessly up the stairs. He caught one glimpse of a pale, even profile and his heart gave a great bound, for he had recognized Clara Tremlowe, and it seemed to him she had come in answer to the deep yearn- aly that sho looked rang _ Only that she looked so sti e and ghastl in her dark dra , and her eyes ele aren 8 blank look in them, that he felt a sort of awe creeping over him in spite of himself. Still he followed, but though she must have heard his steps, she did not turn, or show any conscious- ness of his presence. On top of the landing she paused, appeared to hesitate for a moment g the passage that led toward the center of the house where her own room. was situated, went swiftly but unerringly down a long, nar- row place, and disappeared through a door at the end. Jack was up with her in three strides, b Boos be opened the door a ©w into his face, extinguishing the lamp; and Teasoe ,ftoud ipesitaiing. what 3 a — : gure dashed past him ieking, an vanished into the shadows beyond. mt 7 CHAPTER VII. ED IN THE FIRE. ie aa Morpaunr had been driven against ail by the force and suddenness of the im- petus he had received, but he picked himself up presently and groped about for the lamp. How- ever, it appeared to have rolled after its folly for though he went d. i his hand nees, he could find no eh of it. Tee as he a as peculiarly unfortunate, Jack thought, 1 had no candle in his room down-stairs, r and then, instead of ; at gush of wi if? and did not want to have to go in search of one. At last he bethought himself of an expe- dient, and lighting some paper in his pocket with a fusee, he held it, blazing, close to the ground, recovered possession of the lamp, and dashed down-stairs. Here another difficulty occurred, which he had not anticipated—every drop of oil had been spilled out of the lamp; but as the wick was still moist he thought he might possibly manage to keep it alight while he went for some can- dles, which he fancied he should find on the drawing-room table. It never occurred to Jack that the candle- sticks being silver, Benson would be sure to lock them up in his pantry at night; and at last in sheer despair, Jack marched off to the kitchen. Here he at last found what he wanted; but all these different journeys and searchings had taken time, and it was rather more than a quarter of an hour before he returned to the stairs, prepared for any discoveries that might come in his way. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw a sudden glow of brightness in front that surprised him, and then he heard a crackling noise as of dry wood burning in a fierce fire. “‘Good Heavens!” exclaimed Jack, turning aig ‘the oil from the lamp must have caught e. How could I have been such a fool as to fling the paper down without making sure it was out?” He mounted a few steps to ascertain the full extent of the evil, and finding that the whole corridor was in flames, and the strong draught would drive it to the very heart of the building, he sprung down-stairs, and sounded the gong with a force that would have roused the seven sleepers. Troubled by old Molly’s stories, Grace did not find it very easy to get to sleep that night; although, as a rule, she had neither heart nor conscience enough to disturb her rest. But, then, ghosts were quite a new experience, and in this case novelty had no charm, pleasing as Grace generally thought it. But after hearing the clock strike one, Grace became drowsy, and soon after sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep. She was roused suddenly by the gong, and, being a shrewed young person, it not only occurred to her that there must be something very wrong, but also that there was not a min- ute to be wasted. So she hurried into some clothes, put on a warm flannel peignoir, and went into her mother’s room. Lady Wimborne was sitting up in bed, with a very anxious face. ‘*My dear,” she said, ‘‘ what can be the mat- ter? No one would sound the gong in the mid- dle of the night unless there was something very seriously wrong. Just open the door, will you, and see if any one is about. I should rather not get out of bed unless I am obliged, on ac- count of my cold. ae ie ag sk I better first dress a little, and go to s. Mordaunt’s room. She may be ill, and Captain Mordaunt may have sounded the gong to rouse us, as he did not like to come to our rooms. Men are so stupid when they are frightened. Just hand me my shawl, Grace. Thank you. Now you may open the door. Good gracious! there is the gong again. He can’t surely suppose we didn’t hear it the first time, and it is so incon- siderate of people to behave in this way, just as if one had no nerves! : Grace opened the door, and for one second stood appalled, for she could see the red gleam of the fire at the end of the passage, and heard the crackling of the flames. “What is the matter? Why don’t you speak?” inquired Lady Wimborne, who was watching her face anxiously. “The house is on fire!” Grace threw back Fi her shoulder. ‘‘ There is not a moment to i ” “Stop, Grace! I am coming directly! You won’t surely desert me, child?’ screamed Lady Wimborne, almost beside herself with fright. But Grace was already gone. Her only pian her sole instinct at that moment being to save herself. The house was so built that the east and west wings were connected by a long corridor, into. which opened all the best bedrooms, now occu- pied by fark: Mordaunt and her guests. e west wing was little used. The east wing was entirely given up to the servants. Lady Wimborne’s room was the last of those in the center of the building, as she liked to be en Sr te But as she opened the door, a volley of thick, black smoke poured in upon her, taking awa her breath; and through it there came a little tongue of fire, eager and rapid, which made a sly dart at her bosom as if it would stab her. Grace drew vack, panting and irresolute. Then remembering that there was certain death behind her, and just a chance of life in front, she covered her face, and bounded wildly through the smoke and flame—falling prone on the outer edge of the burning barrier. Meanwhile, Captain Mordaunt, having roused the whole house, rushed to the stable and woke the coachman and groom. : He knew that if he went back to the house he would only perish with those he longed to save, and that the sole chance for them was to get them all out through the windows. y Luckily there was a long ladder on the premi- ses, as some men had been repairing the roof; and, with the coachman’s help, he carried this toward the house, and placed it against his mother’s window. Seeing him, she threw up the sash with a cry of thankfulness, and he hurried to her at once. “Come quickly, mother!” he said. ‘‘ There is not a second to lose!” But she shook her head, and, moving, pointed to Lady Wimborne, who was clinging to the bedpost, and shrieking frantically. ““T willfetch her next time; but you have the first claim,” said Jack, determinedly. ‘‘ You only waste precious time by resisting, mother. Come!” “But Mary?” she gasped. ‘**T will see about Mary—only come.” “But my life is nearly lived out, Jack. Save the rest, and leave me.’ why ‘Never, mother!—that I swear!” he ans-— wered, seizing her arm; and when she saw that — he would not be put off, she reluctantly consen- ted, and allowed him to guide her down the steps. che had scarcely reached the bottom rung, when Lady Wimborne, who was_ absolutely frantic with terror, climbed over the window- sill, lost her footing, and came down with a crash. Her shrieks and loud lamentations, showed she was not dead; and that was all Jack had time to think about just then. The servants were all collected on the lawn by this time, every one eager to help; there were still four to be saved, and the fire, fed b the old timber, and fanned by the winter wind, was beginning to rage furiously. Against the red background he could see, as in a frame, the white faces of the four unhappy creatures, and was seized with a sort of horror pi he thought of the impossibility of saving all. ‘“‘Hadn’t you better throw your bedding down, and jump on it?’ he shouted to Mr. Rogers. ‘‘T have only this one ladder. Or make a rope of your sheets. Do something, for Heaven’s sake! There are the women and the child! I must think of them first!” “Of course you must. Never mind about me,” Rogers shouted. ‘‘I thought you had means at hand, and, therefore, it was no use risking one’s limbs! Take care of Anastasia if— But the flames burst through the doors at this moment, and made a playful dart at him, like a cat toying with its prey. If he did not wish to be devoured, be must bestir himself, he found, for if he stayed where he was there was about one minute between him and ee “You must think of Mary next,” Mrs. Mor- daunt had said. And Jack knew that it must be so, without being quite sure whether he should have made that selection if he had been left entirely to his own feeling in the matter. Anastasia had joined Miss Tremlowe and little Mary, and, inspired by the young governess’s calm courage, she had hitherto behaved very well; but when she saw the ladder placed against the window, and realized that the one whe went next would probably be the last to ge down at all, she pressed wildly forward, tad termined that that one should be herself. ‘*Keep back,” said Jack, sternly, ‘and let me get the child!” ~ But Anastasia was mad with fright now, and would not yield, wasting the seconds that were so infinitely precious. If she had been a man, Jack would have struck her backward; but she was a woman, and the wild anguish and terror in her eyes wrung his heart. While’ he was hesitating. Clara Tremlowe quietly took her round the shoulders, and drew as near as possible to her maid, so that unless | her out of the way; then, kissing little Mary, the eager, huvery flames hod traveled there | who was cowering against her bosom, she said before her, Grace’s safety seemed secure. softly, without a tremor in her voice, ‘‘Good-
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— _ meant, grasped hold o A BRAVE HEART. by, darling; don’t forget my message,” and put her into Captain Mordaunt’s outstretched arms. Little Mary was quite quiet, although he could feel her shudder convulsively. But when he handed her down she roused, and said, in a assionately pleading tone, ‘‘ Gh, my dear Miss Fed ia uncle Jack—she will. be burnt to eath! ‘“‘Not if I can help it,” was the firm reply; and Jack sprung back up the few steps again. There was only Anastasia’s despairing face at the window now, but when he called Miss Tremlowe by name, she seemed to rise up suddenly out of a cloud of smoke, still calm, and even smiling. Push'ng Anastasia forward in such a way that to have thrust her back again would have been murder, she sunk down, without even a cry, into her fiery grave. CHAPTER, VIII. A BRAVE HEART. As Captain Mordaunt dropped Anastasia’s insensible figure on the ground, his mother, seeing his resolute face, and knowing what it f his arm, and said, be- seechingly, ‘‘ Don’t go again; it is no use, Jack —you see it isn’t; and—and—” ‘She is only a governess!” put in Jack, with a bitterness he could not control. ‘‘ Neverthe- less, she saved your grandchild’s life, mother, a if I cannot save hers, I will perish with er! So saying, he broke away from her grasp, sprung up the ladder, and disappeared, as it med to those below, into a gulf of smoke and ut things were not quite so desperate really is they looked from the lawn; and Jack had is advantage, too, that he knew where to find Clara, ins of having to grope about for her blindly. Still, the situation was sufficiently critical, and would have been utterly hopeless, only that the flames were making a meal of the old four- poster in the centre of the room, and the heavy moreen curtains made it tough of mastication. This checked their fury for the moment, but Jack knew they would make a rush at the window-frames next, and cut off his escape, if he were not quick; and raising Clara in his arms, he made a step forward, and then sunk gasping against the wall. It is impossible to say how it would have been, only that Rogers, who had let himself down safely by making a rope of his sheets, came to the rescue; and the very sound of his voice gave Jack the power somehow to cast off the stupor that was stealing over him, and make one more effort for dear life. And once at the window, where he could breathe a little more freely, he felt his strength and courage both revive. But when Rogers would have taken his burden from him, Captain Mordaunt only pressed the unconscious figure closer to him, and said, ‘Not while I have the strength to keep her, Rogers!” And staggoring down the ladder with his load, he pla it gently on the grass, and fell swooning at his mother’s feet. Captain Mordaunt was a good deal scorched, Anastasia slightly so, but the only person who was really injured was Miss Tremlowe—how much it was impossible to say until the doctor had seen her; and having sent off a man on horseback into the village, Mrs, Mordaunt ordered a carriage to be got ready to convey them all to one of Jack’s farm-houses, where they had been offered shelter for the present. eanwhile, Jack recovered, and after a stiff dose of cold brandy and water, pulled himself together, and went to see if any one were missing, Then, for the first time, he noticed that Grace was not among them, and anxiously inquired if any one had seen her. It was impossible to question Lady Wimborne, for she had been in raging hysterics ever since her fall, and almost justified her maid’s malediction that she wished she had been hurt, and then she would be quiet, perhaps. But he asked theservants, and finall appealed to his mother, who confessed, wit shame, that she had forgotten all about the girl, or supposed it was all right, as Lady Wimborne had not referred to her in any way. ‘It was odd they should not have been to gether,” she added, in great distress. ‘‘I was so frightened about Mary I could not remember any thing else. Iam afraid there is no hope of her having been saved.” ‘‘ None whatever,” answered Jack, solemnly. “But we must think of the living now; and the sooner we are all under shelter the better.” ‘‘ And you, Jack?” she said, wistfully. ‘‘T shall stay and see the last of the old place, | ‘“¢-Yes,” answered Mrs. Mordaunt, shortly. mother,” he answered, with a break in his voice “Jt seems that she quietly made sure of her that showed him deeply moved. “I never | own safety, and left the rest of you to do as you knew how much I cared for it until now that it is gone.” ‘Nor I,” answered his mother, tremulously ; my poor Mary was born there. However, we must not repine, Jack, for we have had a very merciful escape from asudden and awful death. As far asI am concerned, I can only remem- ber that you and the child are safe, my dear,” “Ves; Heaven be praised for our preserva- tion, mother; and we must try to forget every thing else. Here comes the fire-engine at last; too late to be of any use. But you had better get off, mother; I am sadly afraid you will catch cold.” ‘‘Not with such a big fire to warm me,” she answered, with a sorrowful smile. ‘‘ However, for Miss Tremlowe’s sake, we had better go. ie come tous, soon, and rest, Jack, won’t ou ‘*T don’t think I could rest, mother, I feel so strangely excited; but I will go to you in an hour’s time, even if I do not remain, just to see how Miss Tremlowe is. “Very well,” she said; ‘‘I shall expect you.” And then they all drove off, Lady Wimborne still sobbing and shrieking; Clara lying like a broken lily, with her pale head on “Mrs. Mor- daunt’s knees; while little Mary, who thought this silence could only mean death, sobbed over her as if her heart would break. But, by the time they had reached the farm- house, Clara had recovered consciousness, and Mary was comforted, although it was evident to Mrs. Mordaunt that the poor girl was suf- fering horribly, and could with difficulty sup- press her groans. She was lifted out very carefully, and carried at once up-stairs toa room that had been has- tily prepared. Mrs. Mordaunt undressed her herself as tenderly as her own mother might have done, and having applied some oil to her wounds, and eased her somewhat, hurried down-stairs to get a little brandy. Opening the door of the little parlor, where she expected to find Mrs. Faith, she saw some one cosily stretched out in front of the fire, sleeping profoundly, and, with a thrill of repug- nance that amounted to actual disgust, recog- nized Grace Wimborne. Mrs. Mordaunt did not care to speak to her just then, lest she should be tempted to say more than she ought, and so she stole out and left her to her slumbers; but she could not help making com- parisons between her and the noble young crea- ture up-stairs, and decided from that moment that Grace was an impossible wife for her son. Poor Clara suffered terribly through the night, and the doctor remained with her, and endeavored to give her all the relief in his power. Mrs. Mordaunt did not leave her either, and when she saw with what heroism she bore her sufferings, and how anxious she was not to give trouble, she felt so much drawn toward her that she began to understand and reciprocate Jack’s interest in the girl, and to pray earnestly that her life might be spared. But for hours this seemed a forlorn hope, Clara’s nerves seemed so completely unstrung, and her strength so exhausted. However, to- ward noon the next day the laudanum began to take effect, and she was able to sleep. Mrs. Mordaunt left her then, and went down to get a little refreshment. On the stairs she met Jack, looking terribly haggard and anxious. “Ts she better, mother? ill she live?” he in- quired, besa thlesty.. “T hope she is better, Jack, but no one can tellas yet. She is young, poor coild! and that is her best chance. ‘What does Dr. Leonard say?” ‘Just what I say. I am quoting his words.” ‘‘Mother,” added Jack, impressively, ‘ fe | could.” ‘“ Who told you that?” ‘No one; but I heard her mother reproach her for having deserted her, and Grace could not deny it, although she gave as her excuse that she had no time to go back and fetch anybody, and thought it was better one person should be saved than none.” Mrs. Mordaunt’s silence was more expressive than words. Presently she asked where Grace was then. ‘‘She has gone home with her mother and Anastasia. Lady Wimborne begged me to tell you that her nerves were so terribly shaken she could not be of any use, and therefore thought it better to get out of our way. She will send a groom over in the afternoon to inquire after us,” concluded Jack, with an undefinable smile. Mrs, Mordaunt shrugged her shoulders con- temptuously. ‘¢ Most attentive and kind, I am sure! Was that all?” ‘‘Not quite. Anastasia had the grace to ask if she could be of any use if she stayed behind. She also added that she should not easily forget Miss Tremlowe’s kindness, and did I think she would like some grapes. I declined both her offers, for though Anastasia is the best of the three, I don’t think she would be of much use in a sick-room.” ‘None whatever,” replied Mrs. Mordaunt, decidedly. ‘“‘I need not ask ou, Jack, what you mean to do about Grace. She is utterly un- worthy of an honest man’s love.” ‘*¥ would rather die than marry her!” he an- swered, with almost fierceemphasis, ‘‘She has no more heart than a jellyfish!” “You are quite right. As long asI live I shall never get over the recollection of her, as she lay by the fire this morning, sleeping as calmly asif nothing bad happened, although she had left her mother and sister, and all of us, in the burning house, and did not know that we were alive!’ ““T fancy that being alive herself was enough for Grace’s happiness—the rest was our affair! I have always noticed that intensely selfish peo- ons are very happy. And, indeed, why shouldn’t hey be? As long as the world treats them pretty well, individually they see nothing to ieve for. However, I am very much obliged Grace for giving me such an excellent excuse for breaking off our engagement, for in truth, mother, it has been a sore affliction to me.” Fe aad — he _ ask tt then?” can hardly you. Iwas an egregious unmitigated fool—that is all! But a liked Grace, mother, and there is a good deal in a woman’s being determined to have you.” Stak: we there is,” replied Mrs. Mordaunt. ‘‘T am fain to confess that I did like Grace. I thought her a cheerful, amiable girl, who would make your home agreeable. And, you see, her position and fortune were so suitable—” ‘Exactly: these things influenced you in spite of yourself, mother. If Grace had been only a governess, you would soon have discov- ered that she was shallow and selfish; but be- cause she was a baronet’s daughter and hada good dowry, she has had the credit of virtues she did not possess. However, thank goodness our eyes have been opened before it is too late. The next time I engage myself, it will be toa woman I love wholly and entirely, without any eae to the suitability of her fortune or ition. “T trust shemay be a lady, Jack—that is all.” “‘T could not love any one who wasn’t a lad in mind and manners, mother; and the rest is not of much consequence, since, as my wife, she will have my position. Anyhow, I think you will be satisfie were to die! I should feelas if I were her mur- te derer!” “You? Oh, no!” ‘ mu ‘But I should, for it was se Ng my care- | _lessness that the house was burnt. t us tele-' graph to town for Sir John Parker. We can: not do too much for her.” wt ‘*T know that; and when I ide ama to Dr. Leonard that we should have further advice told me it was perfectly unnecessary; and is a conscientious man, I am sure he would say so unless it were true.” ‘T don’t think he would,” Captain Mordaunt admitted. ‘‘ And yet I can’t bear to be hat little for her, when she was nag to give her life to save us sorrow, mother,” he added ab- ruptly. ‘‘ Did you know that Grace Wimborne was all right?” ile , — ererr|) 4 “Jack, I can see by your manner that you are thinking of some one in particular.” ‘‘Perhaps Iam; but asI am sure she is not thinking of me at present, it would be presump- ‘tuous to mention her name. But I promise you you shall not be kept in the dark when there is got ag _— then he aes ses ae kissed her, and rs. Mordaunt went back to her post, greatl ered and comforted. fate 4 - Decidedly the Wimbornes were shrewd peo- ple. We may ge that her ladyship was notexactly charmed with the treatment she had received from Grace, and that there were a few little recriminations in the strict privacy of do- mestic life; but, at any rate, she ntotatiee to put a good face upon the matter to outsiders. 7 with my choice, and find that , must be saved! It would be horrible if she by: taking a wife I havealso given you a daugh- © rr) ‘ i ee ae ee ee
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Moreover, she resolved that, since a separation between Jack and Grace was inevitable, the lat- ter should have all the credit of the rupture. Therefore, with a basket of hothouse grapes for the sick girl came also two letters from Lady Wimborne—one to Mrs. Mordaunt, full of ex- cuses and regrets, etc.; the other to Jack—and about as clever an epistle as you would wish to see: ‘* Dear Grace (it ran) was in such an agitated state, and her nerves were so shattered, that she could not write to him herself, as she had wished to do; but she thought it best there should be no delay, and | therefore had begged her, Lady Wimborne, to un- dertake the pai ; needless for her to say that the dear child was of a culiarly sensitive, timid disposition, and after the during her stay at the Hall,and the mysterious de- struction of the house itself,she would always feel that a curse rested on the Mordaunt family, and live in perpetual fear. After a good deal of anxious thought, therefore, she had decided it would be bet- ter to give up the ints Sea and she was sure Captain Mordaunt would give her dear child credit or the purest and most disinterested motives for | this decision, The events of that terrible night had been such ashock to them all that they required an entire change, and were starting for morrow. But she begged Captain Mordaunt to be- lieve that, wherever she might be, no one would ever feel a deeper interest in his fate than his sincere friend, WILHELMINA WIMBORNE.” “‘ There’s a clever woman for you, mother!” said Jack, laughing, as he tos Mrs. Mordaunt. ‘She would have made a Ho be diplomatist. Do you know, I feel like inbad, the Sailor when he had got rid of the Old Man of the Sea, I am free of such a heavy load. 1 don’t care a straw about the old place | now, forif it hadn’t been burnt down I should ave married Grace Wimborne, and been the most miserable man under the sun; whereas how, thank Heaven! I am my own master again, and can make profit out of the lesson I ave received. I shall sell out directly, and be- nto build. Meanwhile, you have your jointure Ouse, and will be able to board and lodge me until I get a home of my own. Iam sure we Shall be very jolly, mother, and you have been wanting me to settle and economize for an age, you know.” ‘* But won’t building be rather an expensive piece of economy?” ‘“* Well, there will be the price of my commis- sion, and I shall sell some of my horses, then I can manage on fifteen or sixteen hundred this ear, and put all the rest of my income into the uilding fund. At that rate in my new home next year, and if I can’t live comfortably, and save for the youngsters too, on eight thousand pounds a year, I deserve to hanged.” __ “What youngsters?” said Mrs, Mordaunt, ina surprised tone. Jack laughed, and colored too. I was counting my chickens before they were hatched, mother, that was all. The young- Sters are not inapossible—only premature.” Jack would hardly have been so cheerful, per- haps, in spite of his release, only that Doctor Leonard had a much more satisfactory account of Clara Tremlowe that afternoon, ani seemed to think there could be no doubt of her pulling through now, with ordinary care. Her lovely hate was sadly charred, but that bag w again, and there was no scar on her md i ndeed, she was more shaken than burnt, a it was the effect of the nervous shock, in er debilitated state of health, that Doctor Leonard had feared. But she had rallied more quickly than he could have hoped, and had already taken a de- cided turn for the better. Pier Mordaunt nursed her herself; first of all tio: duty’s sake, but very soon from real affec- with Ga regard. It was impossible to be much Th lara and not love her, she was so gentle. sen she was so touched by the elder woman’s kindness, forgettin saving little Mary’s life. But she counted her a n eee sucha, small thing, while she seemed apse elmed at the magnitude of the services She received from others Sometimes sh 1 rs. M ear aed pA paid yd sa Ee I wish you wouldn't ten veoh bles t lease. body would have eee pre An and shook her he, ought of Grace Wimborne, task, She thought it must be | rightful aby chat dog warnings she had received | aris on the | his letter to | shall start clear | so) that she had earned it by a A BRAVE: HEART. “Indeed, they would not; but, as you don’t like to be praised, we willsay no more about it. However, we can think what we like, can’t we?” Directly Miss Tremlowe was well enough to be moved. Mrs. Mordaunt took ssion of the house which her husband had built for her, in order that she might feel independent at their son’s marriage. Having an idea that he might bring a wife home at any time, Mrs. Mordaunt would never let The Grange, and therefore it only needed to be swept, furnished, and aired to be ready to re- | ceive her and her party. Jack thought the drawing-room looked very | home-like and pleasant when he came from his walk the first evening, and saw Clara’s sweet, pale face resting on a crimson cushion close to | the fire, while Mary sat at her feet, and Mrs. Mordaunt smiled benevolently at them both from an opposite couch. He came in rubbing his hands cheerily, bring- ing an agreeable whiff of the outer freshness with him, and tossed a bunch of violets into lit- tle Mary’s lap. “‘Those are for the invalid,” he said, smiling softly at Clara; “‘but Mary will want to give them, of course.” .* No, I sha’n’t, uncle Jack,if they are your present,” spoke up Mary, who had a very strong sense of justice; ‘but I will try and get Miss Tremlowe some to-morrow all to myself.” Clara took the violets with a faint blush. ‘Thank you very much,” she said. ‘They are delightfully sweet. But I mustn’t be called an invalid any more, if you please. Mary and Iare going to begin lessons again next week.” “Mother, what do you say to that?’ inquired Jack, turning to Mrs. Mordaunt. “We shall see when next week comes. How | does your paneing se on?” ‘‘Splendidly! The house will be quite ready | for occupation in eight months’ time, since you | are so anxious to get rid of me, mother.” . “Tam afraid by that time, my dear, you will be rez tired of us.” ‘We shall see,” he answered gayly. ‘‘So far, I like myself very much, as the servants say, and am in no hurry to change my situation.” Every day Clara improved, until she was able to go out-doors and enjoy the ges sunshine and perfumed air. It was Jack who always pushed her chair along the garden-paths; and though Mrs. Mordaunt invariably made one of the party, she looked as if she had come to please herself, and not to play propriety. But, on one occasion, Mrs. Mordaunt was called in to see a visitor, and as Mary was not in attendance as usual, Jack found himself alone with the lady of his love. For there had never been an car ooo in his own mind about his affection for Clara Trem- lowe since the night of the fire, and each day he had become more and more certain that she was the only woman he wouldever care to have for his wife. If he had not asked her yet, it was only be- cause he thought that she ought not to be agi- tated while she continued so weak. Noman was less of a coxcomb than Jack Mordaunt, in ite of his successes; and yet he could not help thi I ing that Clara liked him a little, and that it would not be very difficult to coax an affirm- ative from her sweet, coy lips. There was a lovely flush on her face to-day, which looked brighter than he had ever seen it yet; for Clara had good news from her dear ones abroad, and began to hope now that her sister would be eventually restored to health. And then it was such a delightful afternoon, and Jack had filled her lap with early flowers, enjoying her enthusiasm as much as she en- joyed her bouquet. He wheeled her through the shrubbery to the croquet lawn, which was sunny and sheltered both, and had the extra advantage, to his mind, of not being overlooked from the house. A Here he came to a standstill, and sat down by her side on a garden seat, watching her wit tender, wistful eyes. His silence surprised Clara, and she looked up presently, then drooped her eyelids quickly, while a burning blush crept up to the very edge of the little golden rings that had taken the place of her thick braids, and made her look so childlike and fair. Jack knew that he was understood then, and laid his strong hand gently down on her flutter- ing fingers. Mery; _ ‘Clara,” he said, in a simple, Pita aN manly way, ‘‘I loye you, dear! ill you be my wife?” , She hesitated for a moment, growing very pale; and then she answered, in an agitated voice, “‘I never dreamt of this, Captain Mor- have | daunt, and am very sorry. You should Il spoken such words to me, who am only a de- pendent in your mother’s house; but I am not likely, fortunately, to be tempted from my duty by fair promises and fair words; for—for I knew May, the girl whom you once loved and deserted.” Jack nig seh as if he had received a blow, but he spoke up bravely, too. ““T was very wrong there—I will not even at- tempt to extenuate my fault; but I hope you will believe me when I say that, on my return from Norway, I went straight to the little farm-house where May had been staying, and they refused to give me even her name, much more her address, They declared that they had their orders to that effect.” “T know they had. She saw, when you went away, that you had only been trifling with her, and did not choose to give you another oppor- tunity of making sport for yourself at her ex- ense. ‘“Oh, Clara! you are too hard upon me. I swear to you that I was truly attached to her, and never ceased to regret my conduct. But you must remember that a man brought up as Thave been has certain prejudices he finds it difficult to overcome; and gentle and refined as May was, how could I tell that she wasa lady?” “You could not, because she was poor, I sup- pose,” said Clara, with a choking voice. - No; I hope [’'m not such a snob as that. But she was living alone, away from her friends, in a peculiar position—” ‘*She was alone, because the change was ne- cessary for her, and her friends could not afford to accompany her, that was all,” mterrupted Miss Tremlowe. ‘But bein, solitary and vais she had a greater claim on your chi “T never forgot the respect that was due to her for a moment. I loved her dearly at that time, but I must own struggled against the feel- ing, because I knew that there would be difli- ¢e a % yea - i ‘‘And yet I am as poor as May; and you asked me Sy now to be your wife!® ’ : “Yes; but I love you differently, and far more. Besides, I know you to be a gentlewo- man, and Iam sure that my mother would wel- come you as a daughter. Even if I doubted this, I should not hesitate, for I love youso truly, so passionately, so entirely, Clara, that I can not live without you!” His hand closed over hers again, but she moved it away. ‘Tt is May who has a ent to your love, Cap- _ Mordaunt, not I. can not take her place. “‘ But I tell you that I do not know where to find her.” “T can help you there,” replied Clara; “ and moreover, I must tell you that your cruel deser- tion brought her to death’s door. She is still very delicate; but the sight of you might restore her to hope and, therefore, to life. Will you atone for the wrong you once did her?” “ Would it be an atonement to offer her sim- ply my name when I have no heart to give?” “The very sight of her would bring back the old love,” answered Clara, eagerly. ‘‘She is so good, so ase so devoted, the hardest-hearbed man in the world could not resist her.” *‘T honestly believe she is all that; but I see now that what I felt for her was morc brotherly affection and interest than love. I might never have found this out if I had not seen ycu, Clara; but, having found it out, it would surely be a new wrong to May if 1 asked her to my wife.” ‘ “You would love her again when you saw er “Never in that way,” he answered, with ae decision. “I know myself better than I id, and have bought my knowledge too pain- fully ever to make any new mistakes. If I were to marry May, she would be a miserable woman; for how could she fail to see that the old love was dead and gone—or, rather, had never actually existed in that sense?” Clara looked sorrowful and perplexed. She was ready to sacrifice herself and all her dearest hopes in order to do justice to May; but, as Captain Mordaunt put the matter, it seemed to er that while she lost so much, May would gain othing but a perpetual heart-ache. And yet, to e May’s place, and queen it where she would have been despised, was impossible; although every pulse of her heart every fiber of her being, pleaded for Jack, an she knew that it was her life-long happiness she was casting away for duty’s sake. He was watching her eagerly. and seeing by her face what a conflict of feeling was raging in her heart, hoped that the battle would end in eigen ee ee ee Se ae uot >
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42 for him, and ventured to draw closer again. But he did not know Clara Tremlowe. though she looked so soft and pliable she would rather have died than yielded unless her conscience approved. Of course, Jack must not marry May, as he did not love her; but it was equally certain that she must not, since the only chance for on May now was to let her forget Captain ordaunt’s very existence. So she steeled herself to say, ‘‘I would not have you marry May, if she would be a miser- able woman, for sbe has_ suffered enough already, poor thing; but I should be a miser- able woman also, if 1 usurped her place. More- over, how could I have any faith in your con- stancy ?” os y not?” he asked, in a husky voice. “Two months ago you were engaged to Grace Wimborne, remember!” “You know the whole history of that foolish ey em Clara; and how bitterly I repented of it. a victo: “Tt seems to me you are always making love to women, and then repenting of it,” she said, almost bitterly. ‘‘ Two or three months hence you will regret the words you have spoken to me to-day. ** You know better than that, Clara, although you choose to torture me. If you will not have me, I swear solemnly I will never have a wife at all.” ““Do not make any rash vows, Captain Mor- daunt; it is so easy a Nien for men to forget.” “J have never found it so,” he answered, sadly. ‘‘I beseech you, Clara, to think better of your refusal. I can make you happy, I feel ‘that; and oh, my darling, I love yousodearly!” - He bent forward until his breath fanned her _cheek—his eager, passionate eyes searching hers for a pice of answering love; and, greatly moved herself, she sunk back in her chair pale and terrified, feeling asif temptation were be- ii her strength to resist, and that she must isten to the pleadings of her own heart, even if they made her unfaithful to May. ‘You cannot say that you hate me!” he went on, triumphantly, reading her face as it were an open book. “‘ And if you love me, you shall not deny me. Clara, do you hear, child?” ‘Ves, I hear,” she answered, faintly. ‘“ Let me go, Captain Mordaunt!”—for he had seized fast hold of her hands, and was covering them with kisses. ‘‘ You don’t understand—it is im- possible that I should ever be your wife!” “T don’t believe in impossibilities. Why should you be so cruel as to condemn me, altogether for a fault that I havo honestly con- fessed and earnestly repented of? You see yourself that there would be nothing gained now by my marrying May—and it is you I love with all my heart and strength. I can answer for Aad receiving a warm welcome: her, and there is nothing to hinder L .. | lapsed into silence again, casting many @ mourn- from my mo our id ey ama but—” “Bu y!” she put in quickly. “T am positive May would not wish that herself, Clara. Anyhow, I am sure that she would forgive me if she knew that I came back from Ne resolved to do what was right by her, although by that time I was beginning to doubt whether my love for her was all that I had sup it to be while I lay at her feet in the w' , talking sentiment, and smiling into her eyes, and felt I could hardly build up my whole future happily on a mere summer fancy. Still, I should have done it, on my honor; and the good resolution ought to count for some- thing, since it was not my fault that it was never carried out.” She shook her head—not angrily this time, but sorrowfully. ' ae e “Tt is toolate now. I wish I had never come to this place.” ; ‘Whatever happens, I shall never say that, dearest, for lovin man. Complete the work Clara—that is all I ask.” d he fold arms about her, yearningly. ‘‘My sweetest. you could not say no if you only knew how I ae oor from hi ith f di i e broke from him, with a cry of despair. “You won’t understand,” she said, ‘‘and it is too cruel! I am May’s sister!” And without daring to look at him, she cast off her wraps, and fled toward the house. CHAPTER IX. VANISHED. CLARA retired to her room directly she got in, and locking her door, flung herself on the bed, and sobbed as if her heart would break. She did not know how much she loved Jack until shé had to deny him; and to have to re- 5 he have begun,. his you has made mea better | A BRAVE, HEART. sign such happiness as he offered was cruelly hard, because, after all, she could do y no real good by her self-sacrifice. But she could save her pain, and that was something gained, considering how sorrowful her life had been of late. So Clara tried to com- fort herself, feeling all the while the most mis- erable creature under the sun. She excused herself from going down to din- ner, on the plea of a bad headache; and knowing she was still delicate, Mrs. Mordaunt accepted thisexcuse. But when she saw how thoroughly wretched her son Icoked she began to think there must be some connection between the two above facts, and being alone with Jack over the fire that evening, she questioned him affec- tionately. It was such a relief to talk that Jack blurted out the whole truth; adding, as he flung himself back in his chair with a despairing sigh, ‘‘ The worst of it is she will never marry me, mother, for it will always seem to her that I am May’s murderer!” “But May is not dead, Jack.” ‘‘ She will die, Iam afraid. And if she were to live, Clara would think she had all the great- er need to sacrifice herself to save her. pain. You see, I have no chance any way.” “‘T am not so sure cf that. If May were to get well, and become attached to another man Clara would be able to follow the dictates of her own heart; and I think she likes you, sy = led griml ack smiled grimly. ‘‘She has an odd way of showing it, then.” “Well, she wants to do justice to May rather than herself; and we must needs respect her feeling, even if it be a mistaken one. But keep up your spirits, Jack, and I will have a long talk with her to-morrow. She would be more likely to listen to me than to you, because, of course, you are a very interested adviser.” ‘*T would scorn to lead her an inch astray, mother, even for my own advantage.” ‘“‘T am sure you would, Jack; but, when we desire a thing greatly, we are apt to persuade ourse.ves it is right, and, therefore, it is impos- sible to rely on our judgment. Clara is of a peculiarly nervous, sensitive organization, and though indulgent to otbers, is very strict with herself. But have patience, and I think all will come right in the end.” “Tt would not be hard to wait if only I had a little hope,” he said, mournfully. “Wait, and that will come. Clara is so sen- sible and warm-hearted, [am sure a night’s re- flection will show her tkere is no need for her to make a martyr of herself; and if she still per- sists in her resolution, we may, perhaps, find an ally in May herself. At any rate, as I ‘said before, you must be patient. Mrs. Tremlowe returns to England in about a month, and I cannot help fancying she will be on your side. “T trust she may be,” sighed Jack; and re- ful ae at Clara’s vacant chair, and wonder- ing how it would be possible to bear his life without her. This problem had to be solved sooner than he had feared, for in the morning, when Mrs. Mor- daunt went to Clara’s room, the governess was gone, leaving a letter on her toilet table, in which she spoke affectionately and gratefully of all the kindness she had received, and expressed her regret that circumstances had forced her to leave The Grange at once, and forever. ‘““My dear Jack,” said Mrs, Mordaunt, as she showed this letter to her son, ‘‘ Clara loves you, or she would not have gone away. We never fly before a temptation we know we can resist. Let us go and fetch her home.” { “Do you know where she has gone?” “To her mother’s, of course.” _ ‘Had she money enough, think you, for such a long journey?” 2: Ample; for go she refused to accept her quarter’s salary, on the plea that she had not earned it, I put a ten-pound note in her purse yesterday morning.” ‘Would that be enough for her purpose?” “With what she had already, it would be more thanenough. Jtisnot such a very expen- _sive journey from here to Florence. If we ee knew what route she had taken, we might catc her half-way.” “And then?” inquired Jack, wistfully. ‘Then I think we might possibly persuade her to return with us.” “T doubt it. Still, we ought to go, mother; for Clara is too young and beautiful to be wandering about the world alone. Then, of course, it is I who drove her away.” “You paid her the greatest compliment a man can pay to a woman, Jack.” ee ‘* Anyhow, she didn’t appreciate it much,” re- | sponded Jack, dryly. ‘*‘ Another time I shall have to be less complimentary.” Jack was prompt and energetic, and, as a ) bachelor, was not much troubled with impedi- __ menta, so that all his preparations for the jour- | ney were soon made. . s. Mordaunt took only one dress, besides | the one she was wearing, and left her maid behind. Therefore, in two hours they were ready to start, and were fortunate enough to | catch the boat train on reaching Charing Cross, arriving in Paris at eleven o’clock that night. But they simply passed through, and on to Dijon, traveling all night, but managing to get quite as much sleep as was necessary in the carriage, At every place they stopped Jack looked out | anxiously, but either Clara had gone by a dif- | ferent route or had made good use of her few hours’ start, for they saw no sign of her, and none of the officials remembered to have noticed a young lady alone at any of the stations where they changed. Still, Jack was quite hopeful; although, as he neared Florence, he began to look a little ner- vous, as if he rather dreaded the meeting with May. They went straight to a hotel, and after a bath and some refreshment took a carriage, and drove off to the little villa where Mrs. Trem- lowe and her elder daughter were lodging. The door stood open, and as they approached they heard a voice that sounded like Clara’s, singing a low, sweet Italian song, which was deepened and enriched every now and then by a few bass notes, which melted tenderly into hers, as if their lips were not very far apart, or their hearts either. ; Jack grew very pale, and looked inquiringly at his mother. ‘“‘T am afraid we shall be in the way,” he said, rather huskily. ‘‘Perhaps we had better go Tae to the hotel, and just write to Mrs. Trem- owe, ‘* Nonsense, my dear! I came here to see her, and I mean to see her. She left Clara in m charge, and I should not like her to think that had deserted my trust.” ‘“‘] should suppose Clara will do you justice, mother?” ‘She may prefer to be silent,” answered Mrs. Mordaunt, as she tapped at the door; and find- ing no one attending to her, presently walked in, Jack following, despite himself. A girl was seated at the piano with her back toward them, while a tall, dark, foreign-lookin man was leaning against the instrume:t, an zing into her face with very loving eyes. Mrs. ordaunt thought it was impossible to mistake the slight, graceful figure, and golden-brown hair. ut when she said, ‘Oh, Clara!” re- proachfully, and the girl turned round on the spot, she saw that this must needs be Clara’s sister—since it was not Clara herself, and yet there was a certain likeness between them. And May recognized Jack, of course, and said, in the calmest, coolest sort of way, as she held out her hand, ‘‘ How do you do, Captain Mordaunt?”’ Pe Jack, who was a man of the world, recovered from his confusion in a moment, and taking her tone, asked politely after her th, and intro- duced her to his mother. y bowed, and in- troduced Signor Gardoni in h ; Then there was an unpl t pause, which showed that they were none em quite so. much at their ease as they pretended. It was broken by Mrs. Mordaunt inquiring after Clara. “Clara!” exclaimed Ma 7, Srowing suddenly pale. ‘‘Isn’t she with you , Mrs. Mordaunt explained as much as she dared, and May became very agitated and over- come. ‘* Poor Clara is so nervous and sensitive,” she said, “and my state of health troubled her so much that she could not rest. But we hoped the entire change of scene, and pleasant hg tion, would keep her from brooding over her troubles; and indeed, as I told her the last time’ I wrote, there is no need to be anxious about m now, as lam gobiing wel very fast indeed.” “She fancies you tell her these things to reas- ” ‘We may have done so in the early days, for. whenever she was specially worried, she use to wander about the house and grounds in her sleep, poor girl! and we were always so afraid she would injure herself in some way. The doctors say she will get rid of this unfortunate habit directly her nerves become stronger; but, of course, all the while she kept worrying about me there was not much chance for that.” ‘Did she know that she was a-somnambulist?” inquired Jack, to whom this statement was a —— — ———————— - - = _- nee “amare a ats — oe
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a————— revelation and an explanation, both, of many things that had pained and puzzled him. “She didn’t at one time; but Iam afraid she suspects it now, for she wrote to us that the night of the fire she found herself in an unoccu- ped part of the house, where she had never een awake, and was so frightened that she fled shrieking to her own room. She fancied at first, that she might have taken a candle with her, and dropped it, as the fire proceeded from the west wing. But I believe it was your doing; was it not?” ‘Yes; I mentioned that to my mother, and the household generally, for fear any one else ight get the credit of the accident.” _.* That was only right. And now about Clara; if she has left you, she has probably joined mamma in London.” ' “Mrs. Tremlowe is in town, then?” “She went four —— ago. An uncle of ours in India has just died, and has left mamma everything. e don’t quite know yet what his fortune was, but his lawyer tells us we shall be very well off, and wished to see mother at once. As Signor Gardoni’s mother has the next villa, and promised to take care of me, mamma star- ted that very night, taking the short route through the Mont Cenis Tunnel; and, therefore, rn will have arrived in London the night before ast, “Where I trust we may see her,” said Mrs, Mordaunt, gravely. ‘ We shall leave Florence O-morrow morning. I suppose on would not care to accompany us, Miss Tremlowe?” ; “Oh, no!” answered May, quickly, and with . bright blush. ‘1 shall be very happy here until mamma’s return, and I have no doubt she wil bring dear Clara back with her.” Not if I can help it,” thought Jack; and he took a cordial leave of May and of the handsome oreigner, feeling as if he owed the latter a debt gratitude he should find it difficult ever to ay. Three days later they reached London, and went direct to Mrs. Tremlowe’s lodgings, where er found both mother and daughter. lara looked very pale, they noticed, as the door opened; but, ‘at the sight of them, she flushed vividly, and hung her head. She evi- dently thought that Mrs. Mordaunt would re- sent her flight; but the only reproach she ever heard from those kind lips was ‘‘ Foolish Clara!” And then she kissed the girl affectionately, and peace was made. Later in the evening Jack and Clara were alone (perhaps the two mothers had put their heads together, and managed this for Jack) ; and then he took her hand, and said, in his most persuasive accents, ‘‘ You sée, Clara, there is no need to sacrifice yourself for May now; and, since you are so fond of making a martyr of yourself, suppose you do violence to your feelings, and marry me?” Then he added, with as much tenderness as gravity, ‘‘I promise you, darling, you shall never regret it; and, surely, it will console you for your self-abnegation to feel that you have made one person in the world so happy. 3 ara looked down, and toyed nervously with the locket at her throat. “Tam afraid to trust you,” she said. “How ean I tell that this is not also a summer fancy?’ Come, Clara, you know better than that! I shall lowe you in life, and long for you in death. You are all my world my ho my one single thought and care; how could I be unfaithful, then? But you say this to torture me, for you trust mo in your heart,” ‘That was true enough; and as Clara really wanted to say yes, and was only denying him out of coyness now, she let Jack draw her closer and closer, until she found herself sud- enly in his arms, with her lips under his; and then, finding he would not let her go again, she = ned herself to her fate. ® county was very much surprised, and rather indignant, when ‘it heard that Jack was oing to marry Mary’s governess; but when thet were further informed that she was related to the Mordaunts, and had, moreover, a nice rb fortune of twenty thousand pounds, they tine that the affair was much better than cll upon Se ee en a, ; she too up her abode at the new Hall ei ay was married on the same day as Clara; mi be Only ‘rivalry between the sisters in Bans se wie to which had the best hus- childvety 6 fee were the handsomer, fair Jack takes great credit to himself that his Mig no ‘onger walks in her sleep, nor seems to oubled with nerves; saucily declaring that e€ does not believe for a moment Clara’s state ¥ i 13 A BRAVE HEART. of mind and health at that time was caused by her anxiety for May, nor that she scared Grace Wimborne away in her sister’s interest. And as Clara is ‘very niuch afraid she did begin to love Jack directly she saw his kind, handsome, pleasant face, and might, therefore, have felt the influence of this prejudice even in her sleep, she just laughs and blushes, and reminds him that it would have been Srey promi ens Mary’s governess to have fallen in love with Mary’s uncle, only that it is in the nature of Guardsmen to be vain; and, of course, as his ‘wife she is bound to make the best of his faults. THE END. Half-Dime Singer’s Library 1 Wmoa, Ema! and 59 other Songs. 2 Caprain Curr and 57 other Songs. 8 Tam Garnssoro’ Hat and 62 other Songs. 4 Jounny Morean and 60 other Songs. 5 [uu Strrmx You Wrra a Featruer and 62 other Songs. 6 Groner Tae Cmanwen and 86 other Songs. 7 Tae Bruix or Rockaway and 52 other Songs. 8 Sables Frtuam, You're Too Frusx and 60 other ngs. 9 Say Youne Grru and 65 other Songs. 10 I’« TH GovERNor’s OnLy Son and 58 other Songs. 11 My Faw and 65 other Songs. 12 Comm’ Tro’ THE Ryr and 55 other Songs. 18 Tae Rowtiicuine IrisHMan and 59 other Songs. 14 Ory Doe Tray and 62 other Songs. 15 WuHoa, Caaruiz and 59 other Songs. 16 In THIs WHEat By anv By and 62 other Songs. 17 Nancy Lzs and 58 other Songs. 18 I’m THe Boy THAT’s BounD To BLAzE and 57 other Songs. 19 THe Two OrpHans and 59 other Songs. 20 WHAT ARE THE Witp WaAvES SayING, SISTER? | and 59 other Songs. 21 Inpienant Potty Woa and 59 other Songs. 22 Tae Otp Arm-CHatr and 58 other Songs. 23 On Conry Istanp Brac and 58 other Songs. 24 Op Simon, THe Hot-Corn Man and 60 others. 25 I’m in Love and 56 other Songs. 26 PARADE OF THE GuaRDs and 56 other Songs. 27 Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs. 28 "Twitt Never vo to GisirupSo and 60 other Songs. 29 Buus Bonnets Over THE Borper and & other Songs. 30 Tae Merry Lavenrine Man and 56 other Songs. 81 Swexr Forext-me-Nor and 55 other Songs. 82 Lerrie Baby Mine and 53 other Songs. 33 Dz Sone 4M Dr INSTRUNENT FoR Mz and 53 other n, 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. 85 Jus To Pueasm THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 386 SkaTinc on ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 other Songs. 87 KoLorup Kranxs and 59 other Songs. 38 Nit DesprraNpum and 53 other Songs. 89 Tue Grau I Lerr Besryp Mz and 50 other Songs. 40 ‘Tis pur 4 Lirrha Faprp Fiower and 50 other ngs. 41 Prerry WaiieEimins and 60 other Songs. 42 Dancine IN Tax Barn and 63 other Songs. 43 H. M.S. Prxarore, compiere, and 17 other Songs. Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-paid, to any address, on re- ceipt of Sia cents per number. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pvustisumrs, 98 Wiui1Am Street, New York. The Sunnyside Library. 1 Latta Rooxn. By Thomas Moore........... 10c. 2 Don Juan. By Lord Byron... .............. 20c. 3 Parapisz Lost. By John Milton ........ inf De: 4 Tue Lapy or THE Lake. Sir Walter Scott... 100. 5 Lucrs. By Owen Meredith... ....., AGS 10e. 6 Unping, oR THE WarTeR-SpiRIT. From the German of Friederich De La Motte Fouque... 10c. For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. ADAMS, VICTOR & CO., Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y. BEADLE & ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. Speakers. BrapLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fol- lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared sid peer A for schools, families, ete. Each volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collection of Dia- logues, Dramas and citations, (burlesque, comic and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season of 1879—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-one volumes, viz.: ee 1. American Speaker. 12. Exhibition $ 2. National Speaker. 13. School Speaker. 8. Patriotic Speaker. 14. Tmdicrous Speaker. 4, Comic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker, 5. Elocutionist. 16. Youth’s Speaker. 6. Humorous Speaker. 17. Eloquent Sone 7. Standard Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- 8. Stump Speaker. er. 9. Juvenile Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic 0, Spread-Eagle Speaker | 20. Select Speaker. 1. Dime Debater. 21. Funny Speaker. 22. Jolly Speake. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the bition, for Homes, etc. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama- tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, @m- brace twenty-three books, viz.: Dialogues No. One. ialogues No. Thirteen, Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Fourteen. Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No. Fifteen, Dialogues No. Four, Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Seventeen. Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No Eighteen Dialogues No. Seven. Dialogues No. Nineteen. Dialogues No, Eight, Dialogues No. Twenty. Dialogues No. Nine, Dialogues No. Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Ten. Dialogues No. Twenty-two. Dialogues No. Eleven. | Dialogues No. Twenty-three Dialogues No. Twelve. | Dialogues No. Twenty-four. Dialogues No. Twenty-fivé. 15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book. These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availability in all school-rooms, They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- -niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac- ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any price, contain so many available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious and comic. Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents. For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am- ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and Ss, new and standard, of the greatest celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M. Russell. DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. Bravir’s Dime Hanp-Booxs ror Youna PRropup cover a wide range of subjects, and are especi adapted to their end. They constitute at once the cheapest and most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation. Ladies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller, ad Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket. Book of Verses. | Ball-room Companion, Book of Dreams, Book of Beauty. Hand-Books of Games. BEADLE’s Dime Hanp-Books or Games ann Poputar Hanp-Booxs cover a variety of subjects, and are es- ea adapted to their end. ook of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing, Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving. Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism, Guide to Swimming, Base-Ball Player for 1879. Manuals for Housewives. Braptz’s Dive Famity Serres aims to class of text-books and manuals fitted for ene son’s use—the old and the young, the learned and the unlearned. They are of conceded value. 1. Cook Book. 4. Family Physician. 2. Recipe Book. Dressmaking and Mil- 8. Housekeeper’s Guide. linery. Lives of Great Americans. Are presented complete and authentic bio hi of many of the men who have added inten es the ' Republic by their lives and deeds. The series em- Wraces: I.—George Washington. ea, — thon ayne IV.—Ethan Allen. i V.—Marquis de Lafay- ette. VI.—Daniel Boone. The above publications for sale by all newsdealers or will be sent. post-paid, on receipt of pri BEADLE & ADAMS, Bs Wrtan Sr, — Hy VII.—David Crockett. VIiI.—Israel Putnam. IX.—Kit Carson. X.—Tecumseh. XI.—Abraham Lincoln. -—Pontiac.
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————— re Speakers. Brave AND Apams have now on their lists the fol- tewing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared expressly for schools, families, etc. Each volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collection of Dia- logues, Dramas and Recitations, (Parlesque, comic and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season of 1879—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-one volumes, viz.; 1, American Speaker. 12, %. National Speaker. 8, Patriotic Speaker. 4. Comic Speaker. 5, Elocutionist. 6. Humorous Speaker. 7%. Standard Speaker. 8, Stump Speaker. §, Juvenile Speaker. 10. Spread-Eagle Speaker 11, Dime Debater. 22. Jolly Sp Exhibition Speaker. 13. School Speaker. 14. Ludicrous Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker. 17. Eloquent Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- er. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker. 20. Select Speaker. 21. Funny Speaker. eaker. These books are Hl aria with choice pieces for the §School-room, the bition, for Homes, ete. They are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama- tions and Recitations in each book. Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, em- trace twenty-three books, viz.: Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No, Four. Dialogues No, Five. Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No. Seven. Dialogues No, Hight. Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No, 'Ten. Dialogues No. Eleven. Dialogues No. Twelve, Dialogues No. Thirteen. Dialogues No. Fourteen. Dialogues No. Fifteen. Dialogues No. Sixteen. Dialogues No. Seventeen, Dialogues No. Highteen Dialogues No. Nineteen, Dialogues No. Twenty. Dialogues No. Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Twenty-two. Dialogues No. Twenty-three Dialogues No. Twenty-four. 15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book, These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their apailability in all school-rooms. They are adapted to schools with or without the fur- niture of a stage, and introduce a r ters suited to scholars of every grade, e of charac- oth male and female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet offered to schools, at any price, contain so many qwatladle and useful dialogues and dramas, serious ind cemic. DIME NOVELS. Incomparable in Merit. Unapproachable in Price, 2 Be very careful not to confound these books with those of other publishers, sold at the same rice. The vast suecess of the Dime Novels called into existence ‘‘ Ten Cent Novels,’ which the public is sometimes deceived in buying as Dime Novels. The only Dime Novels are those published by BrapLE AND ADAMS, whose copyright trade-mark and signet the word ‘‘ Dine’”’ Novel is, Ask always for BrapLE’s Dime Novels, and you will then get what you wish, The following comprises a complete list as far as published. Numbers omitted are out of print 2. ‘fhe Privateer’sCruise | 293. The Tonkawa Spy. Beadle & Adams’ Standard Dime Publications. Dramas and Readings, 164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents. for Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am- ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Surlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations and Readings, new and standard, of the cebiy ussell. telebrity and interest. Edited by Prof, A. M, DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. Bravix’s Pime Hanv-Booxs ror Youna PHOPLE gover a wide range of subjects, and are especially xdapted to their end. They constitute at once the theapest and most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation. Ladies’ Letter-Writer, Book of Games, Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller. Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket. Book of Verses, Ball-room Companion, Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty. Hand-Bovwks of Games. Brapiy’s Dims Hany-Booxs or GAMES AND PopuLAR flanp-Books eover a variety of subjects, and are es- pecially adapted to their end. Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing. Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving. Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism. Guide to Swimming. Base-Ball Player for 1879, Manuals for Housewives. Brapix’s Dime Famity Serms aims to supply a plass of text-books and manuals fitted for every per- pon’s use—the old and the young the learned and the unlearned. They are of conceded value. . Cook Book. 4, Family Physician. Recipe Book. 5, Dressmaking and Mil- Housekeeper’s Guide. linery. Lives of Gre ACeB: I.—George Washington. Tl.—John Paul Jones. ette. ¥I.—Daniel Boone. at Americans, and authentic biographies presented complete many of the men who have added luster to the public by their lives and deeds. "he series em- VIl.—David Crockett. .—Israel Putnam. IX.—Kit Carson. X.—Tecumseh, XI.—Abraham Lincoln, XII.—Pontiac, The above publications for sale by all newsdvalers, er _ be sent, aid, on receipt of price, b WALDEN & bane W Wows Sr NY 409, The Fire-Eater. 429. Ethan Allen’s Rifiea 410. Blackhawk. 430. Little Thunderbolt, 411. The Lost Ship, 431, The Falcon Rover. 412, Black Arrow, 482. Honest Hand, 413, White Serpent. .438. The Stone Chief. 414, The Bast Ce pti! 434, The Gold Demon. ” 415. The Twin Trailers. 435. Eutawan, the Slaye 416. Death’s-head Ran- | 436, Masked Guide. ger. 437. The Conspirators. 417, Captain of Captains, | 438. Swiftwing. 418. Warrior Princess. 439. Caribou Zip. 419, The Blue Band. 440, The Privateer. 420. The Squaw Chief. 441, The Black wk 421. The Flying Scout. 442, The Doom unte, 422, Sonora Ben. 443, Barden, the Rangel 423, The Sea King. 444, The Gray Scalp. 424, Mountain Gid. 455. The Peddler Spy. 425. Death Trailer. 446, The White Canoe. 426. The Crested Ser- | 447. Eph Peters. pent, 448, The Two Hunters, 427, Arkansas Kit. 449. The Traitor Spy. 428, The Corsair Prince. Others in THE ILLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS. Gea hain the best works only of the most popula, ving writers in the field of American romance Each issue a complete novel, with illuminated covet rivaling in effect the popular chromo, 1. Hawkeye Harry. 78. The Skeleton Scout, 2. Dead Shot. 74. Little Rifle. 4, Blue Dick. %5. The Wood Witch. 5. Nat Wolfe, %6, Old Ruff, the pre 6. The White Tracker. V7. The Scarlet Shoulders 7%. The Outlaw’s Wife. 78. The Border Rifleman 8. The Tall Trapper. 79. Outlaw Jack. 9. Lightning Jo. 80. Tiger Tail, the Semit i0. The Island Pirate. nole. 11. The Boy Ranger. 81. Death Dealer, thi Shawnee Scourge. 82. Kenton. the Ranger. 83. The €pecter Horse man. 12. Bess, the Trapper. 13. The French py: 14, Long Shot. 15. Gunmaker of Border. 16. Red H 17, 18 19 20, 3. ure 294, The Rival Rovers. ¥. The Slave Sculptor. | 298. The Hussar Captain. 0, The Backwoods Bride | 299. Mossfoot, the Brave. 11, Prisoner LaVintresse | 301. Mustang Sam. 14, Emerald Necklace. | 308. Glass Kye. 16. Uncle Ezekiel. 810, Foghorn Phil. 17. Madge Wilde. 812, Dic Davin. 22. The Maid of Esopus. | 313. The Red Brotherhood 23. Winifred Winthrop. | 314. Rival Lieutenants. 2%, The Trail Hunters. | 316. Hurricane Bill. 25. The Peon Prince. 317. oR , the Texan. 80. Put. Pomfret’s Ward. | 822. O Grizzly. 31. Dowble Hero, 823. The Dashing Dra- 82. Irona. ‘oons, 33, Maum Guinea. 20c, | 324, -0’-the-Wisp 24, Ruth Margerie. 825. Dashing Dick. 35. East and West. 826, Old Crossfire. 86. The Riflemen of the | 327. Ben Bramble. Miami. 828. The Brigand Captain 38, The Wrong Man. 829. Old Strategy. 89. The Land Claim. 830. Gray Hair, the Chief. 40, Union’s Daughter.20c | 331. The irie Tigers. 42, The King’s 832, The Rival Hunters. 44, Agnes Falkland. 833. The Texan Scout. 46. Wreck of the Albion. | 334. Zebra Zack, 47. Tim Bumble’s Charge | 535. The Masked Messen- 51. The Two Guards. ger. 53. Hates and Loves, 836. Morgan, the Pirate. 54. Myrtle. 337. The as Spy. 56. Ahimo’s Plot. 338, Tahle, he Trailer, 60. Jo Daviess’ Client. | 339. The Boy Chief. 61. Laughing Eyes. 840, Tim, the Trailer. 62. The Unknown. 841. Red Ax, 63. The Indian Princess. | 342. Stella, the Spy. 64. Rangers of Mohawk. ; 348. The White venger, 65. The Wrecker’s Prize. | 844. The Indian King. 68. The Brigantine. | 845. The Long Trail. 69. Black Hollow. | 346. Kirk, the Guide. 70, The Indian Queen. | 847. The Phantom Trail. 72. The Moose Hunter. | 348, The Apache Guide. 73. The Silver Bugle. | 849. The Mad Miner. 77, Quindaro. | 850. Keen liye, the Ranger 84. The Seminole Chief. | 351. Blue Belt, Guide, 85. The Fugitives. | 852. On the Trail. 87. On the Deep. 353. The Specter + ge 88. Captain Molly, 854. Old Bald Head. 90. Cast Away. | 855. Red Kaife, Chief, 93, The Creole Sisters, | 356. Sib Cone, Trapper. 96. Little Moccasin. . (3857. The Bear Hunter. 98, Ruth Harland. | 858, Bashful Bill, Spy. 101. Maid of Wyoming. | 359. The White Chief. 102, Hearts Forever. 860. Cortina, Scourge. 104, Guilty or Not Guilty | 361. The Squaw Spy. 106. Simple Phil. | 362. Scout of °76. 110. The Hidden Home 863, Spanish Jack. 113. Rattlepate. 364. Masked Spy. 114. Ned Starling. 365. Kirke, Renegade. 115. The Sons of Liberty 366, Dingle, the Outlaw. 116. Port at Last. 867. The Green Ranger. 117. The Mohegan Maiten | 368, Montbars, Scourge. 118. The Water Waif. | 869. Metamora. 119. The Five Champions. | 370. Thornpath, Trailer. 121. Vailed Benefactress. | 371. Foul-weather Jack. 123, The Missing Bride. 872. The Black Rider. 124. Sumter’s Scouts. 373. The Helpless Hand. 125. The Hunted Life. 374. The Lake Rangers. 127. Bald Eagle. 375. Alone on the i 128. The Gulch Miners. 376. Phantom Horseman. 129. Blackeyes. 377. Winona, 132, Old Honesty. 878, Silent Shot, ig ol 135. The Cherokee Chief. | 379. The Phantom Ship, 139. The Border Foes. 880. The Red Rider. 142, The Sagamore ¢*/| 381. TheG -Hunters. Saco, 382. The Mad ger. 154. Rob Ruskin. 383. The Specter Skipper. 159. Snowbird. 384. The Red Coyote. 165. The Unseen Hand. | 385. The Hunchback. 176. The Trader Spy. 886. The Black Wizard. 207. The Buffalo Trapper. | 387. The Mad Horseman. 215. The White Hermit. | 388, The Privateer’s Bride 219. The Scioto Scouts. 389. The Jaguar Queen. 224, The Mohave Captive. | 390. Shadow Jack. 227. The Forest Princess. | 391. Eagle Plume. 228, The Mute Chief. 392. The Ocean Outlaw. 232. The Prairie Queen. | 393, Red Slayer. 234. The Forest Specter. | 394. The Phantom Foe. 239. Old Zip. _ | 395. The Blue Anchor. 242. Graybeard. 396. Red-Skin’s Pledge. 243, The Black Princess, | 397. The Quadroon Spy. 244, Keetsea. 398. The Black Rover. 246. The White Apache. | 399, Red-Belt, the Tusca- 250. The Border Renegade rora. 256. Antelope Abe. 400. The Two “rails. 268. The ite Brave. 401. The Ice Fiend, 263, The Border Huntress | 402. The Red Prince, 264, Mountain Kate. 403. The First Trail. 282. Ruby Roland. 404, Sheet-Anchor Tom. 288, The Lone Chief, 405, Old Avoirdupois., 284. The Young Spy. 406. White Gladiator. 289, The Balloon Ssouts. | 407. Blue, Clipper. 292, Black “ohn 48. Red Dan and. 84. The Three eg he . Ben, the Trapper. 85. Kaleolah, the itchy . Wild Raven, ayer Queen. . The Specter Chief. 86. The Hunter Hercules, . The B’ar-Killer. 87. Phil Hunter, the Bog 21. Wild Nat. ate 8 22. Indian Jo, the Guide. | 88. The Indian Scout, 28. Old Kent, the Ranger. | 89. The Girl Avenger. 24. The One-Eyed Trap- | 90. The Red Hermitess. per. 91, Star-Face, the Slayer. 25. Godbold, the Spy. 92. The Antelope Boy. 26, The Black Ship. 93. The Phantom Huntea 27. Single Eye. 94, Tom Pintle, the Pilot 28. Indian Jim. 95. The Red Wizard. 29, The Seout. 96. The Rival Trappers, 30. Eagle Eye. 97. The Squaw Spy. 31. The Mystic Canoe. 98. Dusky Dick. 82, The Golden Harpoon, | 99. Colonel Crockett. 38. The Scalp King. 100. Old Bear Paw. 34, Old Lute. 101. Redlaw. 35. Rainbolt, the Ranger. | 102. Wild Rube. 36. The Boy Pioneer. 103. The Indian Hunten 87. Carson, the Guide. 104. Scarred Eagle. 88. The Heart-Eater. 105. Nick Doyle. 89, Wetzel, the Scout. 106, The Indian Spy. 40, The Huge Hunter. 107. Job Dean. 41, Wild Nat, the Trapper | 108. The Wood King, 42. Lynx-cap. 109. The Scalped Hunte, 48, The White Outlaw. 110. Nick, the Scout. 44. The Dog Trailer. 111. The Texas Tiger, 45, The Elk ee 112. The Crossed Knives 46. Adrian, the Pilot. 118. Tiger Heart, Trachey 47. The Man-hunter, 114. The Masked Avenge 49. Mo_vasin Bill. » | 115. The Pearl Pirates, 50. The Wolf Queen. 116. Black Panther. 51. Tom Hawk, the Trail- | 117. abdiel, the Avenger “er. 118. Cato, the Creeper. 52. 1ne Mad Chier. 119. Two-Hax t. 53. The Black Wolf. 120. Mad Trail Hunter. 54. Arkansas Jack, | 121. Black Nick. 55, Blackbeard. 122, Kit Bird. 56. The River Rifles, 123. The Specter Riders 57. Hunter Ham. 124, Giant Pete. 58. Cloudwood. 125. The Girl Captain. 59. The Texas Hawks. 126. Yankee Eph, 60. Merciless Mat. 127. Silverspur. 61, Mad Anthony’s Scouts | 128. Squatter Dick, 62, The Luckless Trapper ; 129. The Child Spy. 68, The Florida Scout. ; 180. Mink Coat. 64, The Island Trapper. | 131. Red Plume. . Wolf-Cap. 182. Clyde, the Trailer. 66. Rattling Dick. 188, The Lost Cache. 67, Sharp-Eye. 134, The Cannibal Chie 68. Iron-Hand. 135, Karaibo. 69. The Yellow Hunter. | 136. Scarlet Moccasin. 70. The Phantom Rider, | 137, Kidna’ 71. Delaware Tora, 138. The id of th 72, Silver Rifle. Mountain, SONG BOOKS. Brapu4’s Diaz Sone Books, Nos. 1 to df con the onl et Same collection of copyrig¥ songs to found in the market, ‘ MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS. Robinson Cruse. Jim Crow J. ke Book. Pocket Joke Book, Paddy Whack Joke Boo
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ipmernnm 7 jj tied ND shed) aed) eh ) i _ i, | I} __AA_]} ee) se) * Of Notable Works by Notable Authors. Beautifully printed in the popular folio form, from clear, open type ; each Y issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of TEN CENTS EACH. No double price on double or extra size numbers. THE CHEAPEST LIBRARY EVER PUBLISHED! 1 Was Soe His Wire? Mrs. Mary R. Crowell... 10c 38 Brave Barpara. By Corinne Cushman....... 10¢ 2 Fierinc From Love. By Harriet Irving...... 10c 89 A Dancrrous Woman. By Margaret Blount... 10c 8 Dip He Love HER? Bartley T. Campbell..... 10e 40 Ovuma’s Love. By Henrietta E. DeConde... . 10c 4 A SrRanGE Woman. By Rett Winwood. .. 10c 41 Lost: A WIFE. By Corinne Cushman... ..... 10¢ 6 Tivo Giris’ Lives. By Mrs. M R. Crowell.. 10c 42 Winnina Ways. By Margaret Blount ....... 10c 7-8 Lapy AupLEY’s Srcret Miss M. E. Braddon. 10c 43 A Woman’s Heart, By Mrs. M. V. Victor... 10c 9 Tae War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman..... 10c 44 Tue DreAp Letter. .By Seeley Regester. .. 10c 10 LerigHTon GrRanae. Miss M. E. Braddon. ..... 10¢ 45 Lorp Liste’s DaventeR. By C. M. Braeme.. 10c 11 Tae Fatse Wipow. Mrs. J. D. Burton. ...... 10c 46 A Woman’s Hann. By the author of “The 12-13 Lost ror Love... Miss M, E. Braddon....... 10¢ Dead Letter,’’.. ue. ee re ee 14-15 TorLurs oF rHz Sma. By Victor Hugo....., 10c 47 Viats or Wratu. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.. 10¢ 16 THE QvuapRoon. By Catharine A Warfield.... 10c 48 A Wip Girt. By Corinne Cushman..... . . 10¢ 17-18 Uncte Smas. By J. S. Le Fanu........... 10c 49 Tor Mappest Marriace Ever Was. By Mrs, 19-20 Deap-Sza Fruit. Miss M. E. Braddon...... 10¢ Jemny Davis Burton......m-gy.---. +--+». + 1. A0c 21-22 Larrie Kare Kirsy, F. W. Robinson..... .. 106 50 Love tin 4 Maze. By Mrs. KE. F. Ellet..... oosse 10C 23 Sowmnae THE Winp. Mrs. Mary R. Crowell,.... 10c 51 CarHotina. By Dr. J.H. Robinson....... ... 10¢ 24-25 Birps or Prey. Miss M. HE, Braddon ...... 10¢ 53 A Romance or A Poor Youn@ Giru. Mrs. Ellet 10c 26 Taat Boy or Norcorr’s. Charles Lever. ... 10c 58 Tae Lockep Heart. By Corinne Cushman... 10¢ 27-23 CHar.Lotre’s InnERITANCE. Miss Braddon. 10c Ready December 4th. 29 A Grru's Heart. By Rett Winwood ....... 10c 54 Tur Prive or THE Downes. Margaret Blount, 10c 30-31 Rep as A Rose Is SHE. Rhoda Broughton. 10c Ready December 18th. 82 Toe Lity or St. Erne. By Mrs, Crow ....... 10c 55 A Strranae Girt. By Albert W. Aiken. .. ... 10¢ 83 STRANGELY WED. By Mrs. J. D. Burton....... 10¢ Ready January Ist. 34 Tue Gresy Brive. Sear For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, 85 ANNIE TEMPLE. BY. re on receipt of twelve cents. 86 Wirnovut Mercy. By Bartley T. Campbell.... BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 37 Buack EyYEs AND BLUE. Co e Cushman.... 98 William street, N. Y, LO Cees A FIFty CENT NoVEL For FIVE CENTS! IN THE POPULAR LIBRARY FORM, Hach Issue Complete and Unabridged, COVERING THE FIELD OF LOVE AND SOCIETY ROMANCE. Eacu issue a complete novel by an author of established reputation— Perfectly pure in tone, spirited and captivating in story, as the title WAVERLEY” implies. Everything to please and nothing to avoid— WHOLESOME, VIGOROUS AND FRESH! No long drawn out “serial” of the popular weekly that costs weeks of waiting and much money. No inferior or exceptionable productions; no tedious narrative or weak sentimentalism; nothing but good strong stories of to-day! det a 3 es Dales BR ST a BO = by The Masked Bride; or, Wit Sue Marry Hm. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell author of ‘ Vials of Wrath,” “Did She Sin,” etc. Now Ready. is $ Was It Love? or, CotieGiAns AND SWEETHEARTS. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D., author of ‘‘ Bessie Raynor,” etc. Ready November 25th. The Girl Wife; or, THe Trur anv tHE Fats. By Bartley T. Campbell, author of ‘“‘ Did He Love Her?” ‘‘ Without Mercy,” ete. Ready aeenertbbin ode ee A Brave Heart; or, Srartimery Srrance. By Arahella December 9th. > “if Southworth. Ready Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl; or, Taz Quicksanps ow Lire. By W Mason Turner, M. D., author of “ Was it Love,” ete. Ready December 16th. ‘+ The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess IN Sprrzor Hersetr. By Sara Olaxton. Ready December 23d. p A Daughter of Eve; or, Brixpep py Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, aut’ of “‘ The Masked Evide,” “* Vials of Wrath,” ete. Ready Daciher 30th, ° eset For sale by all Newsdealers. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., W, Y. ss a a > BB DB
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Eacu issue a complete novel by an author of established reputation—perfectly pure in tone, spirited and-captivating in story, as the title “Wavertey” implies. Everything to please and nothing to avoid— —® Bitty Cent Novel for Hive Cents! [IN THE POPULAR LIBRARY FORM. iach, Aline Af omplete antl | nabridged, OR< Wholesome, Vigorous and Fresh. No long-drawn-out “serial” of the popular weekly, that costs weeks of waiting and much money, but this very serial in neat and attractive form for the small sum of five cents. No inferior or exceptionable productions; no tedious narrative or weak sentimentalism , nothing but good strong stories of to-day! I. ' FIRST ISSUES. The Masked Bride; or, Wut Saz Marry Hw? By Mrs. Maty Reed Crowell, author of “Vials of Wrath,” ‘‘Did She Sin?” etc. Now ready. Was Il Lowe? or, Cotrectans anv Sweetaearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M.D., author of ‘Bessie Raynor,” etc. Ready No- vember 25th. , The Girl Wife; or, Tue Truz anp THE Farsz. By Bartley T. Campbell, author of “Did He Love Her?” ‘Without Mercy,” etc. Ready December 2d. A Brave Heart; or, Srarriincty Srrancr. By Arabella Southworth. Ready December gth. Bessie Raynor, the Worle Girl; or, Taz Quicxsanps or Lirz. By Wm. Mason Turner, M.D., author of “ Was It Love,” etc. Ready December 16th. The Secret Marriage; or, A Ducuess in Sprre or HersEtr. By Sara Claxton. Ready December 23d. A Daughter of Jwe ; or, Buvev sy Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, author of “The Masked Bride,” ‘‘ Vials of Wrath,” etc. Ready December 30th. FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., New York, ROMANGS.